


To find home

by RandomsHouse



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alive Erica, Alive Vernon Boyd, Alpha Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, Beta Scott, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Derek Feels Guilty, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Nemeton, Pack Feels, Protective Derek, Protective Scott, Sad Scott, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Leaves, Team Arrow, au arrow, presumed dead stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:37:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomsHouse/pseuds/RandomsHouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Stiles, I spent five years in a hellish island. Well, to be perfectly honest it was less than two years, the rest of the time was spent training with my brothers and sisters from the league, and killing people. Let’s not forget the killing people part.<br/>Of course the Nemeton had to almost destroy Beacon Hills and force me back to town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles return to Beacon Hills was terribly anticlimactic if he said so himself. Granted, most of the town had been leveled by a freakish earthquake that could only be supernatural in nature, even if the news had merely called it a “phenomenon” and the ultra-fanatic religious associations had declared it the end of times, who knew religious fanatics could have a semblance of reason? But still, after being legally dead for five years he had expected a bit more drama, at the very least some coverage from the local newspaper, he had been the Sheriff’s son before his untimely death. Fine, a giant hole in the ground was more important than Stiles, whatever.

…

The Nemeton was gone and it had only taken half of Beacon Hills along with it. Derek counted it as a partial victory, Lydia agreed with the sentiment and so did Allison, but not loudly. There was no reason to upset Scott any more than necessary.

It all started as it usually did, with an innocent dying.

Whatever unknown forces were being drawn by the tree stump this time, they were less physical than a werewolf pack or a druid, Deaton had warned them while looking as unflappable as he usually did. The new town arrivals were in fact little more than mist, a spiritual/demonic mist, and as non-corporeal beings that they were, they immediately started looking for hosts.

Luke Davis, the new grave digger, was the first to be declared missing and that was only after his neighbors had called the station over a suspicious smell coming from his house. Closer inspection revealed that the source of the smell was none other than a decomposing Miss Davis, killed by what appeared to be a frying pan to the head. One of the younger deputies had lost his lunch over that one.  

Normally a case of domestic violence wouldn’t call for supernatural intervention, and this particular case didn’t until it started happening on a daily bases. All over town there were similar occurrences, spouses arguing violently, parents hurting their children and children hurting their parents, groups of friends attacking each other for no reason. And then there were the acts of random vandalism. The Sheriff department was scrambling to answer all calls and stop the increasing wave of violence. Even so, the pack had seen no reason to get involved, until deputy Miller had gone to the Supermarket to break up a fight between two costumers and ended up unloading his service weapon on the unsuspecting bystanders, all while sporting a set of alarming pitch black eyes.

Isaac had been unlucky enough to be among the shoppers, and after picking out a bullet from his shoulder he had ran straight to Derek with the news, and an emergency pack meeting was immediately called.

“Demons!” Scott was not prone to outbursts, hadn’t been for a couple of years, but every now and then something got away from him. Kira put a calming hand on his shoulder while Allison looked at them with soft eyes.

She had resented the relationship at first, had felt unimportant and easily replaced. It took many hours of moping on Lydia’s bedroom to realize that yes, she had been Scott’s anchor and first love, but she had to be honest to herself and admit that she had gotten closer to Isaac almost before breaking up with Scott for good. And Scott had the right to move on from their relationship.

It had hurt her, of course, but things with Isaac were so much more relaxed that she couldn’t help but wonder why she and Scott had tried so hard when clearly romance could be simpler and healthier. Besides, whatever post breakup sorrow any of them had felt had been quickly eclipsed by loss, and Scott was terribly lucky to have met Kira when he did, as Allison and Isaac were sure she was the only reason he was still standing. Her and having to look after the then newly turned Liam. Even though Derek had been the one to bite the kid after he’d been caught in the crossfire of a wendigo attack, he’d pawned him off to Scott almost immediately. Allison was sure it was done precisely to distract him from his mourning and unlike many of his other plans, that one had shockingly worked.

Mending Scott’s already rocky relationship with Derek had taken years, and was possibly only because of the need to fill the void in his life with the feeling of pack and familiarity that Derek and his wolves could provide, all the while knowing it would never be enough to replace what was lost, not that anyone would ever dare to try.

“Not quite but close enough.” Deaton was being as clear and to the point as he always was, and from her vantage point on a far end table, Allison could tell nobody was in the mood for it, herself included. Derek, who she had to admit had gone to great efforts to tame his temper over the past few years, was very close to growling. So far almost fifty people had been injured or killed in the attacks, and everyone knew these things weren’t solved in a matter of hours. Just planning a strategy would take a few days, so it was safe to assume that more people would die before everything was over. No one in the pack was big on the strategy part, and as much as they tried, it took a while for them to figure out a course of action.

“They are spiritual beings, that much is clear and they need a host to act. The problem is that without knowing exactly what they are we cannot exorcise them, and since the hosts are completely innocent we can´t just kill them. It is likely that they would just jump to a new host if we did that.”

The pack was settled in the vet’s office, having been summoned by an emergency howl, the phone lines had gone down the night before during a freak storm that left a residual cloud that blocked all cell phone reception. All of the elements of a good horror story were present, as Erica had so kindly pointed out.

It was also luckily coincidental that the evil forces of the week, as they had been jokingly dubbed by Isaac a few summers before, happened to attack at a time when the entire pack was in town. Because, while Scott lived in Beacon Hills along with Kira, Liam and, obviously Derek, the rest had decided to study out of town and embrace the chance to have a life away from the supernatural. They had stayed very close though, only Lydia had crossed the country and settled in NY with periodic visits. Allison, Isaac, Erica and Boyd had actually rented an apartment together just two hours out of Beacon Hills, close enough to race over in case of emergencies. It was a strange arrangement, unthinkable during their teenage years when everyone was so distrustful of each other, three werewolves and a werewolf huntress. Erica once said that Stiles would have tried to pitch it a sit-com, luckily nowhere near Scott’s hearing range. 

When it became clear no one was going to contribute to the conversation Allison asked the question that would, retrospectively, lead to one of the worst plans ever made but also the best possible outcome. “So what can we do?”

….

Scott wandered around the ruins of what had once been the bowling alley, one of the only places in Beacon Hills that had had only good memories attached. One of the walls had toppled over and the roof was completely caved in, the insides had been ransacked during that first night when their carefully crafted plan had fallen apart around them and everything was chaos and death. Another failure to add to his ever growing list.

At least his own home had been spared the destruction. It would have been a shame for it to be destroyed, considering all of the work the Sheriff had put into fixing it over the last few years, needing a project to maintain at least a semblance of sanity after losing the only family he had left. Scott had spent many weekends helping him.

The side of town Scott was currently walking through was out of the area marked as “secure”. The sheriff station had cordoned the whole area with bright yellow tape to prevent people from hurting themselves when trying to walk across the rubble, and it served the additional purpose of separating the residential area from what had been informally dubbed as “No Man Land”, the place where those who had lost their possessions during the sinking of the town went to try and get something back.

The initial riots had subsided and the looting had ended when there was simply nothing left to take and the authorities had arrived to remove the corpses of those who hadn’t managed to run away from the destruction on time. As post apocalyptic as it looked, the area was far from abandoned. There were daily patrols and heavy surveillance in place,  but the entire sewer system was still flocked with people. Scott could hear their heartbeats from where he was standing, and Sheriff Stilinski suspected some of them had even come from out of town looking for opportunities and to take advantage of the ever growing chaos. Scott knew he feared the National Guard might get involved if he didn’t manage to calm the population soon, which could be deadly both to the residents of Beacon Hills and its many supernatural inhabitants.

Walking was safe for him, being a werewolf and all, and it served as a sort of penance. He could look directly at the mess he’d caused and all of the people he had failed, so many lives lost or ruined beyond repair. Because even if the Nemeton was gone forever, as Derek would often remind him, it had certainly caused a fair amount of damage. Not even the pack had come out that night unscathed.

Allison had almost lost her father during the fight when a possessed Mr. Jones, his mechanic, had flung him out of second floor window. He’d survived, however, it was uncertain whether he would be able to walk again and was, for the foreseeable future, the fourth member of the McCall-Stilinski residence, since Allison’s apartment was cramped and four flights of stairs away from the ground.

Derek and Peter were once again homeless as the loft was among the buildings that were leveled to the ground when the Nemeton had almost literally exploded following the ritual Deaton and Miss Morrell had used. The ritual, aimed to sever the magical energy from the tree stump and drive the spirits invaded the town away, had worked. Scott also accepted that there was no way Deaton could have predicted the size of the magical backlash. A very costly mistake.

Most terrible of all was the loss of Lydia’s mother, the only parent who had managed to remain ignorant of the whole supernatural mess, right until the very end.

Scott sighed as he walked the border of the once park and made it out of the No Man’s Land without incident, just as he did every night, knowing full well that others before him hadn’t been so lucky.

The trek was actually necessary; delivery was a thing of the past. So here was Scott, entering the only still working dinner in town, separated from his home by about fifteen blocks of pure destruction. The dinner itself was crowded, all tables taken and a long line of costumers waiting for their take out while the haggard looking employees ran around like headless chickens. He chose to focus on them and not on the memories of Saturdays spent with Stiles in that very dinner back when they were teenagers, back when Stiles was still around. 

They would sit in a corner booth and talk about anything, mostly Allison. Or rather, Scott would talk about Allison and Stiles would nod at the appropriate times, munching on fries. Every now and then he would interrupt to argue that while Allison’s auburn locks were comparable to the richest of melted chocolate (“nice Scott! Be sure to mention that to her, she’ll love it” followed by an outrageous wriggling of eyebrows), Lydia’s cherry blond curls were nothing if not divine.

A phantom smile found its way into his face. He could remember those days clearly, Stiles laughter and carefree attitude both before and after the bite, less often after the bite but still present. He could recall the sound of his voice and his scent, and he had saved a few of Stiles t-shirts in his closet and sniffed them on occasions. He knew Erica had done the same thing and couldn’t be too sure about Derek, as it was a pack thing, a way to cope with loss.

The Alpha had explain that a pack member’s scent would forever remain in the packmates memory, and even if his voice faded little by little over time, Scott could close his eyes and almost and pretend Stiles was around.

Scott’s eyes opened and flashed gold for a second.

That wasn’t pretending. Stiles scent was around, as fresh as if he’d been there just a few minutes before.

“What….” He practically raced among the tables looking for the familiar face he knew couldn’t be there, tripping patrons and almost knocking over a waitress in the process. “How?”

Scott bolted from the dinner without picking up the order.

\----

Stiles had been pacing the room furiously. Scott could hear him from the hallway just as he could smell the faint scent of tears that only cemented his resolve.

“It’s for the best” after a deep breath he walked into Stiles room ready to deliver Derek’s news.

The supernatural was destroying Stiles’ life; everyone in the pack could see it. He was getting hurt constantly, what with the Kanima, Gerard, and that damn Deucalion that almost broke his arm. He couldn’t heal like they did, he wasn’t as strong, but he kept taking these responsibilities to himself and risking his life to help them, nerve caring about the danger he put himself on. So if Stiles wouldn’t take care of himself, Scott would have to do it for him.

The Sheriff had managed to keep charges from being pressed after their last havoc-wreaking, and only because there was not definite prove, but the school might still try to expel him. Stiles was a perfect student and he was getting his entire future ruined because he was covering for the pack and their stupid inability to stick to a plan. Scott couldn’t let it happen and apparently neither could Derek.

The only way Stiles would be safe was if he the pack stayed away from him. If Scott convinced him not to seek them out, to work on getting his life back to something normal, to the life he deserved.

Stiles would be hurt, they would all be hurt, but it was for the best. Scott made up his mind and walked into the room where his best friend waited.

So after all of the pack’s efforts to keep him away from danger, that Stiles would go and die in a completely human accident was the ultimate irony.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter here! thank you for all of your wonderful reviews <3 I hope you like this chapter and be patient, the plot will start to sneak in the next one!

Stiles was prone to making bad, reckless decisions. Going for food at a public dinner, the only open dinner in town, when he was supposed to be dead and currently serving as fish-food had to be at the top. It was pure luck that no one had recognized him, probably due to the fact that everyone had more important things in their minds, the partial or total destruction of their homes being the main one. Additionally, Stiles admitted that he’d become an expert at not being noticed in a crowd.

He figured he’d take his food to go, it felt rude to occupy a four person booth by himself when there were plenty of people standing up. So he carefully made his way outside, mentally playing the “do I know you?” game. It felt like everyone he’d seen so far was covered by an extra layer of gloom, which was disconcerting and completely clashed with memories he had stored of Beacon Hills, though by the end those too were anything but happy. 

Only two steps out of the dinner and he froze, Scott’s presence becoming visible as he quite obviously violated a yellow police tape that blocked the worst of the destruction. He was sure that it was only because his once best friend was completely immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t see him, or at least that is what it had looked like before Stiles had been forced to dramatically jump on a trash can to reach the edge of the closest wall and vault to the other side. It was also pure luck that he’d been downwind at the time or else he would have definitely been found out.

To name another reckless decision, rather than running away as any sensible person would do, Stiles simply relocated to a more convenient rooftop and observed Scott as he entered the dinner. Observing one’s target was always the first step, never mind that Scott wasn’t a target and Stiles wasn’t on a job, but old habits die hard as they say. Or new habits. Whatever. He settled himself comfortably, still munching on the curly fries he’d bought. So what if they made climbing the wall twice as difficult? He was hungry, damn it. 

Scott looked unhappy while getting in the take-out line, it was the first thing that came to his mind. He hadn’t seen his friend yet, as his first stop had been his house, followed by a mini heart attack upon seeing nothing but ruins. Luckily he had gone to check Scott’s place second, only to find his dad taking out the trash and looking perfectly at home. 

Scott was a different story. Even his always shaggy hair looked particularly lifeless, and though Stiles was too far away to properly see his face, his body posture spoke volumes, what with his dropped shoulders and half hunched back. All in all, it wasn’t a surprise, as Stiles knew Scott would feel guilty about many things, the town’s state being only one of them. And while five years ago he would have said “Good!”, he was no longer a moody teenager.

It shouldn’t make a difference whether Scott looked sad or not. There was nothing to be done since Stiles had no intentions of actually interacting with anyone from the pack, or even his father. He chewed another fry. There was a comfortable life waiting for him, not one anybody would approve of, but it was a life, and if it hadn’t been because the destruction of Beacon Hills made the international news, he would never have returned. Frankly, he should have left the moment he saw his father was safe and living with Melissa McCall, it was clearly a long term situation and not a new development brought about by his childhood home’s destruction.

Almost one week had passed since his arrival and he still hadn’t left, he was running out of excuses to stay. His new friends were lenient, but not excessively so.

One look inside the dinner and the curly fry almost made its way down the wrong pipe. Scott was running around frantically with his “sniffing face” in full display, clearly tracing the path Stiles had taken when in the dinner. Apparently his departure from Beacon Hills would have to be a sudden one.

\--

Many words could be used to describe Derek Hale, but “domestic” was typically not one them. Yet here he is, vacuuming. A little housework was worth the joy of not having to listen to Peter bitch about the state of their new lodgings and how their residences kept going from bad to worse. His loft was among those buildings to have collapsed after the Nemeton turned into a literal ticking bomb, a shame really since he had grown to like the space. But they were lucky enough to have any place to live. They were certainly luckier than many people from town.

He was almost done with the living room when Scott called.

It was probably the most disturbing phone call he ever had, even if he barely spoke himself. The slightly glad feeling he got at seeing Scott’s name on the screen lasted mere seconds, because as soon as he could hear Scott’s ragged breath he knew something was wrong. Scott’s tone, unusually high and breathy (he was obviously running) had Derek on his feet in record time, ready to go help him (or save him) with whatever he was getting himself into. He didn’t even make it out of the living room, once Scott told him who he was chasing after.

It was a shame that after spending hours cleaning and tidying the room he had almost tore it apart in a matter of seconds. Derek was no untrained puppy, hadn’t been in years, yet as soon as the call was cut he was on his wolf form, and proceeded to chew through the couch cushions like they were candy, to hell with Peter’s complaints. It wasn’t like the original owner was ever returning to the house.

He was still in full wolf form, coughing up the remains of the couch, when Erica found him. Maybe following his distress through the pack bond, maybe out of pure good timing, either way it forced him out of his tantrum and into taking action. It was okay to have a bit of a catharsis when needed, but he had to maintain at least a semblance of control in front of his pack.

Scott’s call was alarming both because of how upset he sounded as for how convinced he was of what he was saying. The younger wolf might have not been aware of the reasons Derek had when he insisted in distancing Stiles from them, but he had to understand that the teen had been a pack member (even if he was told otherwise) whose loss was mourned and never properly put behind. To mention that Stiles might be around to the Alpha would be terribly insensitive, unless Scott absolutely believed it to be the truth. And that was troubling in an entirely different way.  

The pack had felt Scott slowly slipping; losing Stiles had nearly killed him. Kira and Liam had come to them as blessings when they did, the young Kitsune because she filled the hole left by his break-up with Allison, though it would be unfair to both girls to claim Kira was an Allison replacement. And Liam… well.

Derek still felt a bit guilty for handing off his newest beta to Scott, even though it was the best decision no matter how you looked at it. The kid had been too intimidated by him to feel comfortable and as usual, found Scott to be more approachable. Additionally, it gave Scott something to focus on and for a while it had seemed things would be alright. Except Scott had never completely recovered, and his sanity seemed to always be hanging by a thread. He may seem stable now, most of the time, but Derek was perpetually afraid of whatever would tip him to the wrong end of the cliff.

It wouldn’t hurt to look around, Derek decided. He could spare a few hours to make sure his beta hadn’t completely gone off the deep end. He would take the opportunity to explain phantom feelings; just like amputees could sometimes feel their missing limb, a werewolf could, on occasions, smell a pack member that was no longer present. Many nights Derek had woken up to the essence of everything that had been Laura, only to remember she’d been buried for months. Same thing had happened with Stiles’ scent, times when he could have sworn the boy was standing right next to him. Probably about to say something annoying but amusing.

Scott hadn’t had that particular problem even if, admittedly, he’d had many others, some even more severe. 

Derek could understand that some of his issues would resurface after the mess with the Nemeton. No one in the pack had taken their failure as personal as Scott, not even Derek, who by all rights should feel the most responsible given his Alpha status. The young beta had somehow appointed himself as the town’s protector, and having half of said town destroyed only took him back to the emotional state he’d had five years before. He’d been in no way fully recovered, but everyone in the pack had hoped he was slowly getting there. If there was one thing Derek truly regretted about the current mess was its effect on Scott, as selfish as it was to the other victims. 

Erica was no less disturbed when Derek told her that Scott had called him convinced that he’d scented Stiles and that he was going to circle back to town and track him. He was pretty sure though that  Erica´s concern was directed at Derek as well, knowing he would be just as upset as Scott, if the state of the furniture was anything to go by.

“So what do we do? Do we go after him?” Erica asked, apprehension in her voice. She started fumbling in her purse for her phone, if they had to wander around No Man’s Land they would need the rest of the pack, otherwise they would be at it all night.

Derek sighed as he finished putting on a shirt, his pants and shoes had survived the transformation to wolf, but in his eagerness to chew something he had started with his shirt, which now laid in pieces on the floor keeping the remains of the cushions company. “I don’t think we have another choice. He said the scent was heading for the tunnels and I know Scott goes there sometimes but… none of us has gone very deep. We don’t know what he could find there."

“Well, I know what he _isn’t_ going to find.” Erica said, sending a meaningful stare at Derek. “You do know it’s impossible to find him there, right? Not after all this time, not there of all places.”

“I know” Derek replied instantly, because he did know. Even if for some reason his wolf decided to do a number on him for it, he knew Stiles was gone. That was probably the wolf’s main issue, actually.

“Good, because going through this the first time around was bad enough. You need to be in your right mind if you want to get Scott into his.” She finished texting Isaac and Boyd, knowing the former would bring Allison along.

Derek nodded and left the apartment without another word, Erica following close behind. Peter would be back soon, and Derek wasn’t sure if he was happy or disappointed he would miss his reaction at the new state of the couch.

\---

Scott hadn’t made it far before Stiles’ trail vanished, but it wasn’t that strange considering the amount of smells lingering in the air. The further away one got from the “safe zone” the more populated it became. The Sheriff had been right in suspecting people were coming from out of town, even at its best times there was never so many people in Beacon Hills. 

He was worried, Stiles’ scent had led directly to the center of the cordoned area, where the Sheriff’s department couldn’t reach and the law was basically null. Not even the pack was supposed to wander that far, Derek’s orders. Stiles wouldn’t know not to go there. Then again, he would have no reason to even be there.

Not because he was dead, no.  Scott had smelled him and the smell was fresh, he’d been in the same dinner as him. Stiles had probably even sat in the same booth they used to use those lazy Saturday afternoons long ago. If he’d smelt him somewhere unfamiliar he would have doubted both his nose and his sanity, he knew the pack already did enough of that but it wasn’t the case. Stiles had been there just a few minutes before Scott had arrived, not enough time to go very far. There weren’t that many places he could go to.

Just a few steps after crossing the police line there was a hole on the middle of the streets, and following that hole was a world barely recognizable. The tunnels began around where ice ring used to be. Originally, they were part of the town’s sewer system but now they were partially collapsed in some places and completely closed off in others, since, immediately after the explosion, the area had been cleaned and the sewers that were salvageable were closed off in an effort to save at least part of the town. The remaining areas were abandoned and waited to be demolished whenever the budget allowed it. 

However, the collapse of the streets had also revealed small chambers hidden among the tunnels, probably used by the workers to store their tools, either way the space was now in use by the large population of homeless individuals. A crowd that was rapidly growing in number and, as the days passed, also growing in anger. Scott walked confident that he would be fine, even if alone, should anyone try to attack him. Which was a distinct possibility 

Scott wasn’t sure if anyone from the pack would show up, so he had to be ready.  Just the day before someone had thrown a beer bottle at Isaac’s head when he’d been using the tunnels as a shortcut to the supermarket, and the pack had silently decided not to cross the yellow tape again. Everyone except Scott, of course.

Also, he was sure  Derek hadn’t believed him. It was perhaps stupid to think he would, but he wasn’t the only one in the pack who hopped Stiles would one day appear. It had been Liam who first made him think about it, back when he’d been newly turned and overly clingy of Scott after Derek had dumped his newest beta on him without warning or room to complain.  Scott had been having a bad day, which was common, yet it was made particularly worse by the news that Avengers 2 movie would be premiering and the fact that almost two years before Scott and Stiles had sworn on their friendship that they would see it together, no matter when it came out. 

Calling it a bad day was an understatement. He’d shifted unconsciously, something that hadn’t happened in years, and proceeded to take off into the wood in four paws, clothing discarded on the way, and it was Liam who found him and planted the idea in his head when he was trying to get Scott out of a fit of fury made of fangs and fur and absence of Stiles. In a moment of desperation he’d mentioned, almost in passing, that Stiles was declared “missing” and missing people turned up all of the time so maybe Scott shouldn’t give up yet.

It was clear that Liam hadn’t meant it, that they were empty words meant to comfort him,  but the idea stuck. And should had Scott been alone in this thought, he would have considered forgetting about it, eventually, but he wasn’t.

“ _You didn’t scream.” It was unfair to ask her, to do so almost accusingly, and given the glare he received in return Lydia agreed with his assessment._

“ _I didn’t, he was too far away. I have to … I have to be closer to the bodies.” Just one tear dropped and Scott hated himself a little right then._

“ _That’s not how it works. I’ve seen you! Lydia, just tell me.” He knew it, he just knew it. “Is he dead?”_

“ _Scott, if I answer that… I won’t know if it’s the banshee talking, or his friend.” It was good enough, he wasn’t the only one._

There really weren’t many places one could go to, so Scott thought hard about it while he wondered down the large tunnel, trying to catch a scent. If Stiles had returned (maybe he’d heard what’d happened?), he wouldn’t have many options, he’d already been at the dinner which was a familiar place, the school was not somewhere he’d visit and his home was barely more than a pile of rubble.

And it came to him, because what would he have done? If it had been him, looking for his mother, for his familiar place, where would he go? Rubble or not, home was home.

Scott ran.

\--

After a long chase,  Derek paused at one side of the tunnel, just next toa crevice that hid a larger room. It had clearly been recently vacated, if one could go by the freshness of the scent that permeated the air.

He knew that scent, it was in his nightmares and his waking moments, it was what haunted his memories. He knew the scent.   
  


He tilted his head back and howled. A perplexed Erica joined him within seconds.   
  


\--

After running with supernatural speed (to hell with bystanders) Scott was only surprised by how unsurprised he felt when he approached the remains of the Stilinski household to find a single person facing him. 

Stiles, older and healthy, standing by his house.

There was a small smile on his face as Scott vaulted himself over a fallen tree and hugged him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took a while, sorry for that! here we have the next chapter. We are finally moving past the heavy exposition and into the actual plot :) joy!  
> This also means the Arrow characters will start to appear! To clarify, the story takes place a few weeks before the Starling earthquake so nobody knows about Sara yet. 
> 
> Let's take a moment to thank amethyst_uk, lovely beta and excellent person to bounce ideas. <3
> 
> And finally, if anyone wants to find me on Tumblr, you can find me at: overthepinkocean.tumblr.com
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Hugging Scott felt exactly like Stiles remembered. Part of him had been afraid that he’d exaggerated the levels of comfort it provided, those times he’d clung to the memories as if they were the only thing that kept him going. It felt a little like being home. Stiles barely contained a smirk, was there anything he could consider home?

The werewolf was crying. Even if he hadn’t heard the honestly obnoxiously loud sobbing, he would be able to tell by the way the front of his shirt was slowly becoming damp, but no biggie, he had more shirts. He was more worried about what would happen when the hug ended, because Scott was bound to ask questions that he couldn’t exactly answer.

 Why had he let himself get caught, again? It wasn’t like he didn’t know this place was one of the first his friends would check on, especially Scott.

Because seriously, his old home? A rookie mistake he hadn’t made in years, hell, probably a mistake he wouldn’t have made even when he was a teenager. Running with wolves had taught him a thing or two after all. And yet, his legs just kept walking this way after he left the tunnels, and to be honest, he was tired of having to keep his instincts on check all the time. Back when he was Scott’s Stiles, he had been sort of proud on his good instincts and how his gut proved to be right almost every time. Maybe he’d actually been following his heart, but he’d learned the hard way that wasn’t always the best course of action. Not for the kind of man he was now, anyway. Sara would disagree, but that’s what made her so special.

Scott was calming down, and Stiles had to get a grip on his thoughts because seriously, a trip down memory lane was not going to solve the problem at hand. He had to keep a cool head and think of something believable, a magical explanation that covered five years worth of absence.

Or… he could skip the explanations.

He could make a run for it. His best resource right now was by far the element of surprise. Scott wouldn’t see it coming, and even with his werewolf strength, speed and nose, Stiles was fairly sure he could escape him, leave Beacon Hills through the less known roads, and be out of their reach before Scott could alert the rest of the pack. He could maybe escape the whole pack if he needed to, but that would be hard. And more importantly, they would tell his father he’d been there, and the Sherriff didn’t deserve to be ditched without a goodbye. Not when he was the only reason he’d come back to town.

Scott had calmed down by now, but Stiles still had a strong grip on him and no answer to offer should questions be asked. Little by little though Scott started to pull back, and with a heavy heart Stiles had to allow it. He had to face the music.

“You’re here. You’re really here.” Scott said, cleaning his tear-soaked face with the sleeve of his jumper, his other hand still clutching at Stiles as if he would vanish at any moment. Even through it, Scott had the most tender smile on his lips, and yeah, that was his escape plan flying off a window. Damn it.

“I’m fine, Scott, take a breath,” Stiles answered, patting his friend’s back. Scott started laughing a happy, relieved laugh that made Stiles’ chest hurt. Oh, he was so screwed.

“Sorry, I just thought I was crazy for hoping… I mean you…” Scott seemed to be searching for words, but in the end he just shook his head and smiled at him again. “It doesn’t matter, as long as you’re okay. Wait, you’re okay, right?” He asked, suddenly starting to touch him all over as if looking for a broken bone. It was true he didn’t look his best, some half healed bruises were visible here and there, but that was only because that bridge in Lebanon had blown up way sooner than it should have. He was never trusting middle-east explosives again. 

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Stiles replied, trying to lighten the mood. Being “okay” really depended on the point of view. 

“But,are you in any trouble? Do you need help? You know I’d help you with anything, right?” Scott asked with a serious face. Stiles’ blood run cold, yet he made himself proud when he managed to keep a completely composed face. Still, he knew he shouldn’t worry too much, Scott had never been overly perceptive and Stiles had developed a mask or two.

Besides, while he _did_ know in theory he could trust Scott, he probably shouldn’t take it too seriously. He was back in Beacon Hills after being “dead” for five years, which wasn’t so terribly shocking all things considered since many members of the pack and acquaintances could claim to have done something similar. Granted, not for quite so many years and they were supernatural in one way or another, but still. It set precedent.

Also, it seemed like his best friend hadn’t made many changes concerning lifestyle. As such, Scott would forever be looking for people to help and problems to solve. And he understood because this used to be his life too, running around town in hopes to save everyone, trying to be ahead of disaster, caring about casualties. Men, he had been adorable.

 “There’s no imminent disaster about to strike us down, I promise.” Stiles said, a small smile playing on his lips at how easy he went back to be ‘us’.

\---

At nightfall the temperature dropped significantly below the point of tolerable. Stiles shivered, wishing for a moment that he had accepted Jeremy’s offer. At least he would be warm, although most likely not sleeping.

For better or for worse Stiles had refused and was now performing a task not less disgusting than warming someone’s bed. The prisoner he was overseeing (fellow prisoner? Could he even claim that anymore?) was licking the paper plate he’d been given in an effort to extract even the smallest amount of food left. Stiles could have told him not to bother yet didn’t, knowing full well he would be ignored. Several weeks ago he’d been in that same position, so he knew from experience.

The prisoner was planning something. It hadn’t taken him long to learn the signs early in the game, first as a way to identify tells and prevent them from showing on his own face, and then, well…

“Here,” he’d taken an extra blanket before heading towards the holding area, the men acting as security let him because they’d learned his techniques within the first few weeks. 

The man locked in the cage looked surprised for a second, but he wasn’t about to say no to a little comfort. The holding cells were separated from the camping ground by only a few steps and from the main housing area by a small bridge. That bridge looked like a tunnel between two worlds, just a bit of concrete separating the jungle, a pitiful camp and even more pitiful cells from a mansion that looked like it belonged in Beverly Hills. Stiles had been inside often enough with Jeremy. He preferred the hard jungle ground any day.

Each cell provided enough room for a grown man to stand up and walk two steps, so sleep was more than uncomfortable and required a lot of bending of limbs and creativity. At the moment, Stiles was sitting by one of the only two cells in use. The second was used by a young woman, quite pretty in her early thirties. She wouldn’t be there much longer.

“Thank you,” the prisoner was a young man, older than Stiles by about a decade. He’d been brought in a few days before, a lost tourist picked up from some street, probably. Stiles could see the fight still in his eyes. It never lasted pass the second week.

“It’s the least I can do, isn’t it?” Stiles mumbled, feigning the anger, frustration and embarrassment he’d felt the first couple of times he had to do this. Nowadays he felt nothing.

His response had the desired effect. The prisoner stared at him with interest, but Stiles pretended not to notice and walked away.

\---

As he jumped over a fallen tree, Derek wondered if perhaps Scott could have gone mad and somehow taken him along for the ride. The more he ran the clearer the scent became, and that was just not possible. Derek would have known if a member of his pack was missing or injured. He had certainly felt Stiles absence after he’d been pushed from the pack, and after the plane crash, it was like a physical wound. For the first year, he felt like he was walking around town with a gaping hole on his chest, just dripping his insides all over town, all over his pack. Stiles couldn’t be alive, yet his scent was here, and it was not one he could ever confuse or forget.

Erica was barely keeping up with him, and that was only because he’d made a conscious effort to wait for her. It wouldn’t last long, he could feel his wolf get more and more eager the closer he got to Stiles. He could vaguely register that Scott’s scent was also present, but it was soon pushed to the back of his mind.

He cleared another obstacle in one big leap and suddenly he was there, just out of his reach, Scott’s scent all over him. Had he been able to register it, he would probably find it ironic his first reaction was to be jealous.

The Alpha werewolf could hear Erica whimpering at his back after landing, and almost felt the need to turn back and ask her if she could see him too. He wasn’t hallucinating this, was he? Scott was there too, after all, keeping a strong grip on Stiles’ arm as if he would try to run away if he let go. Their mixed scents were all around him, more noticeable thanks to the tension he could feel in the air. Suddenly, he was almost knocked over by his beta as she launched herself at the pair. Scott squeaked loudly and almost wolfed out at the intrusion, and Derek could see Stiles (it was really him!) holding Scott back with a calming hand as he used his other arm to embrace Erica, who was now positively getting her mascara all over Stiles’ shirt. 

Scott looked torn between wanting to comfort his packmate and shove her out of the way so he could keep Stiles all to himself. He settled for doing nothing, which was for some reason the very thing Derek was currently doing. Being truthful, despite what he’d told Scott and the rest of the pack in smaller degrees, he too had fantasized with this moment, Stiles alive, Stiles suddenly there. And never, in any of the multiple scenarios he’d thought of, had he frozen quite like he was doing now.

Above all, he’d never imagine being glared at when he finally managed to make his body react and take a step towards him.

\--

Derek was not going to make another attempt to reach him, Stiles could tell by his body language alone. A young Stiles would have been proud of himself and his ability to scare away an Alpha werewolf, however older Stiles barely found it in himself to be a little indignant that Derek would go as far as to look wounded. He masked it as weariness though, because the Stiles they knew would actually give a fuck.

Five years ago, when he’d been unceremoniously kicked out of the pack, Scott had done all the talking. It was Scott who mentioned what the lying and running around was doing to Stiles’ life, Scott who yelled angrily that he was just being stubborn and they were doing it for his own good. Really, he thought fondly, Scott only had to throw a rock at him and cry that he didn’t love him anymore to make it the most cliché moment in history. He allowed a small smile at the mental picture, although at the time he hadn’t found nearly as amusing.

It was Scott that spoke that night, but the words had been all Derek. 

Although Stiles had been mad and hurt at everyone, he had known all along, even then, that the one making the decisions was him. So yeah, Derek acting like Stiles was hurting him by keeping his distance? Not the littlest bit fair. And if it wasn’t because Scott looked like he was about to start crying again (they could all feel the tension raising) he would have said something to the Alpha. As it was, he just wanted to get this over with before someone, probably Erica, started asking questions. He sighed a long, suffering sigh and turned to his best friend.

“Scott,” Stiles’ voice was a touch too watery for his taste, but given the emotional state he wanted to deliver, a tear or two seemed appropriate, or at least believable. He couldn’t remember how to be sensitive anymore, “where’s my dad?”

He felt bad for a second or two (what was this town doing to him?!) when Scott just held him again, effectively dislodging Erica. “He’s fine! Stiles, he’s fine. He’s not here… he’s living with my mom now. I mean, with both of us,” which he’d already known, as after finding his house in ruins Scott’s home had been stop number two.

No reason to let anyone know that though. “What? What happened?” he asked, trying to resemble the cold panic he’d felt the first time he’d seen his destroyed home. At least his ignorance in the topic was a hundred percent truthful, as he hadn’t managed to find out yet what had caused the earthquake. There was no way that was a natural disaster.

His best guess was that the Nemeton was somehow connected to it, or something attracted _by_ the Nemeton, which kind of amounted to the same thing. He only knew that whatever had happened was bad enough to have dragged him back to Beacon Hills, or what was left of it anyway.

Erica was close to him again, presumably to calm him down from an impending panic attack, should there be one. That meant he was better at faking distress than he thought, which was good. And while he couldn’t afford to suffer panic attacks anymore, faking one was a nifty little trick that did wonders with lie-detecting machines, and apparently also with werewolves.

As much as Erica had acted like a bitch towards him and everyone else back in the day, he knew she was a sweet girl at heart, particularly to those she cared about. Also, he couldn’t blame her for sometimes hurting the people around her when they were teenagers. He’d seen her be rude and cruel, and couldn’t fault her, because when people had been needlessly vicious towards her when she was alone and helpless, in his book that meant they’d deserved it back. He never managed to make good old Scott understand that, but Stiles did get it. When he’d been younger he’d seen just how bad people could be, the hyperactive kid with too much mouth and no mother been an easy target just like in the wild, easy prey meant easy blood. Growing up, he would have loved to chance to strike back. Erica was lucky as she’d been given fangs and claws when for years Stiles had to depend on his words alone. Words, he’d grown to learn, were not very effective against fists.

Derek was slowly inching closer to him, clearly wanting to scent him. His nose was twitching in what the werewolf clearly thought was a subtle manner. It only irritated him more.

It was annoying mainly because Stiles thought he was over caring about these things. He’d spent months hating Derek and his pack, Scott included. Nights of loneliness, pain and fear when all he could do to stay sane was submerge himself in the memories. He could forgive Scott for what he’d said, had forgiven him already, but not Derek. He knew that the Alpha had the heart in the right place but he still had managed to single handedly ruin his life, take his friends away from him and indirectly make his father send him away in what had to be the plane flight with the worst consequences in the history of the universe. 

He couldn’t have Derek around yet. But he could use the opportunity to steer things into seeing and speaking to his father, since clearly the moment to run away had fled him. Nyssa was going to laugh her ass off when he called her, and maybe travel to the States punch him in the nose.

“Can we just…” Stiles made a motion in direction to Scott’s house, hoping fewer words would make the whole thing less awkward. “I just want to see my dad.” Scott was nodding frantically even before he finished the sentence.

The walk to Scott’s house was luckily filled by Erica rambling about the other members of the pack.  She had tried to question Stiles at first, but he managed to divert them with his ever growing and this time very real anxiety. He’d never meant to actually interact with his father.

The worst part was that Stiles could imagine clearly how much pain he’d caused to his dad. He’d lived in fear of losing him for years, so it was easy to understand what the Sherriff had gone through, how much it must have broken him.  The younger Stilinski had dreamed with the day when he could finally see his father, but by the time he was actually capable of doing it, he wasn’t sure it would be worth it, for neither of them.

In all honesty, his father was better off believing him dead.

“And, Allison and Isaac will of course deny it, but I can tell Isaac wants to ask her and she will absolutely say yes. A couple of weeks ago we were at the mall and she was checking out dresses. She said she was looking at the pant suits, but that was bullshit!” It was baffling to know that Erica and Allison had gone from enemies/reluctant allies to practically BFF’s. In a way, it was even more shocking than seeing his house in ruins because it spoke of entirely different dynamics than what he was used to. It made him think of the five years apart with a nostalgic regret he hadn’t felt in years.

He was an entirely new person, he’d learned to accept that, but so were they. He knew the others felt the change in his mood because Erica’s voice trailed off and Scott just wrapped and arm around him. He could see Derek practically vibrating with the need to get closer, but smartly choose to stay away.

Somehow, he was playing the traumatized survivor to a tee. 

“It’s going to be okay, Stiles. I know a lot’s happened but I promise, we are all here for you.” Scott looked so serious and teary eyed again. “You are here, that’s all that matters.”

Stiles was fortunately saved from saying anything by their arrival to Scott’s house. This was it. He was going to see his father, he was going to see him and have to lie to him all over again or risk telling that his son was…

“Stiles? Is that…Stiles!” Melissa McCall hadn’t changed one bit, she was still as agile and strong as she’d the last time he’d seen her almost five years ago when she was saying goodbye to him at the airport. Back then she’d promised to take care of his father, and looking at him over her shoulder after she’d launched herself to hug him, it seemed like she had kept truth to her words. 

“Dad.” The nurse was still hugging him, her tears joining the collection on his shirt. “Dad.”

\---

Sherriff Stilinski wasn’t a man of faith, even after seeing a lot of weird shit he had to live over the years. Perhaps _because_ of all the shit he saw, yet looking at his supposedly dead son, he let himself believe in miracles for once.

\---

The prisoner was planning something, he could see it in the way he moved, in the over-excited hand movement and the extreme attention he was paying to the surrounding guards. Stiles marched dutifully with a plate full of something that could have been meat and a blanket folded on his arm. Jeremy hadn’t repeated the offer after the previous night’s refusal, although Stiles was not overly hopeful it would remain like that for too long.

 Also, the second prisoner had been removed from her cell, which spoke volumes.

 “Here, you look like you could use this.” The man took the plate a little too gratefully but carefully enough than nothing spilled and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. His every movement was livelier than it had been the night before. What was he plotting? He had seen most of the island himself, when the plane had first crashed and he’d been looking for food and another human being. And then when he’d been hiding from the few human’s he had been unlucky enough to find. There was no way out, no boat to miraculously carry him off to safety, nothing.

 Stiles looked down at the ground, as if the weight of the world had suddenly crawled into his shoulders.

 “Kid, how old are you?”

 ---

The McCall residence looked dreary and glum, almost abandoned despite the ever growing amount of inhabitants. Melissa had declared that Mr. Argent was due for a medical checkup and taken him to the hospital in a wheelchair. Stiles barely found it in himself to be surprised by that particular development, although he could sympathize with the frustration the man exhibited on his face.Now more than ever he understood what it felt like to be independent and capable of taking care of himself and couldn’t imagine what it would be to lose that. Scott, Derek and Erica had reluctantly left them to the family reunion as well, probably to find the rest of the pack and tell them the news.

Stiles was looking at his hands while running excuses through his mind, a million possible explanations because even if he’d managed to avoid it so far, his father was definitely going to ask questions. And lying to him would be infinitely harder even if there was no reason to worry about lying detecting super senses.

The Sherriff bursting to tears was unexpected. 

“Dad?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Whatever else he said was lost in the hiccupping and sobbing, as he hunched over himself, shaking on the couch. Stiles couldn’t think of a single sound as heartbreaking as his father’s tears.

“Dad, no!” Stiles was ready for grief, joy and angry accusations, he had imagined this moment many times in the past, but never quite like this. He crossed the small distance that separated them and embraced his father, for once in his life, at a loss for words.

“Dad, don’t apologize.” The Sherriff was calming down but only slightly, and Stiles was honestly worried he would start to hyperventilate soon. He was not going to kill his father from shock. “Dad, please! You have to calm down. I’m here, I’m fine.” He wished at least Melissa had stayed, she would have kept a cooler head.

“Stiles, Stiles...Son, I’m sorry…sorry” the man was, fortunately, tiring himself out. 

“Shhh, deep breaths, dad. Come on. You are fine. I am fine. Just breathe.” Slowly the sobs subsided, although the grip the Sherriff had on him only got tighter. Stiles reached for his father’s head and carefully angled it so that it was resting against the crook of his neck, where he could feel his heartbeat. It was a trick he’d seen Nyssa use once on Sara once when the girl had been thinking of her sister. It had been effective then just like it was effective now. “There, much better, right?”

“You are here.” His voice held even more wonder than Scott’s had earlier that night, if such a thing was possible. Deep down Stiles was surprised.Had he lost his father, his only remaining family, he might not have been able to handle it. He could easily imagine Melissa and the pack joining forces to provide some solace for the mourning father and for the first time in years, he regretted not coming back to town sooner.

“Yes dad. I’m here.” He said nothing more, waiting for his father to gather himself. His own emotions could wait until he was alone, or until he could get his hands on a phone and talk to Nyssa.

The man was not the Sherriff for nothing, it only took him a few minutes to finish pulling himself together. He couldn’t stop looking at his son with a pain filled expression, but at least he wasn’t going to keep crying or work himself into a heart attack. Unfortunately, it looked like the time for questions had arrived.

“God, Stiles! You are really here right. You are you, right?” That would have been confusing, except this was Beacon Hills and he could very easily not be him, so he could only congratulate his father for having the presence of mind to ask. Really, the Sherriff had taken to werewolves, hunters and Kanimas with surprising ease, all things considered. Another person might have panicked or simply waved their sanity goodbye, but not the Sherriff. He’d simply taken an entire summer to review all of his cold cases with a very grumpy Derek as supernatural consultant of sorts. At the time he’d found the situation hilarious and gone as far as to enjoy the extra time he spent with the Alpha. Well, no point in dwelling in the past.

He simply held his father in hug, the first one he’d initiated in a while and laughed lightly. “Yeah dad, it’s me.”

“How?” He asked.

Stiles gave himself a couple of seconds to put himself together. He couldn’t lie to him, not after everything he had gone through. His dad didn’t deserve that.

“The plane had been malfunctioning for a bit already, before we crashed.” Stiles started, not knowing what else to say. “The weather was awful and it was night and it was raining like crazy, and we could all feel nothing was okay, even if the pilot kept repeating it was. We started to fly low, looking for a place to do an emergency landing. I think we were close to the continent, but not close enough, and there was this island… He tried to make for it but couldn’t and we crashed on the water.”

Stiles closed his eyes, memories flying though his head. He hadn’t thought about that part of his story since forever, and he was surprised to find his hands shaking. His dad took them inside of his, and it was enough grounding to keep going.

“I don’t remember much what happened after. I think most people died from the impact, but I wasn’t the only one who regained consciousness soon after. There was this stewardess, in all that hell she seemed to be the only one who knew what she was doing, so I loosed my seatbelt and followed her. She managed to get one of the doors open, but that just made the plane sink faster. She got out first, I got out second, and some other people followed, I think.

“We were somewhat close to the shore, but the waves were really strong and although it pulled me to the island, I couldn’t stay close to her. I almost drowned and it felt like I was in the water forever, and then I was at the beach, and just… dragged myself, looking for a dry place, and next thing I remember I was daylight again, and I was alone.”

Even though that was only the very beginning of the tale, he couldn’t find his voice to keep going. There were five years worth of tales, but none of them painted a picture he’d ever want his father to see.

“There were no other survivors?” His dad asked, a heartbreaking look on his eyes. “Have you been alone all this time?”

Stiles couldn’t help the sad snort that escaped him. It was a stupid move because he could’ve just said yes, that he had been alone until he found a way out 5 years later, but the opportunity was gone. His father’s inquisitive look told him he wouldn’t get away with not saying anything.

“Dad, there were more people but… not right now, please. Just, not now.”

“Stiles?” suddenly his father’s arms were around him, and he felt like he would simply fly apart if he had to speak another word.

 “I’m sorry… I should’ve been able to… but I couldn’t, I’m so sorry.” Stiles said, making his father hold him tighter.

“Whatever happened, son, it wasn’t your fault.” His father told him earnestly.

Stiles didn’t reply because so many things had been his own fault since the moment he was found, but he would never tell him. He could never tell him anything.

“Can we just not talk about it? I don’t want to remember.” Stiles said, finally dislocating himself from his father.

“Yes, of course. I mean, if you need time, that’s completely understandable,” the Sheriff said, and Stiles didn’t have the energy to correct him. It wasn’t a matter of time.

“Thank you.”

“But you’re okay, right?” He asked, and Stiles could detect a shade of fear in his words.

“As much as it could be expected.” Stiles aswered.

His father wasn’t done. There was something nagging at him and Stiles could see it.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice tired. He just wanted this to be over, and then he realized they had been talking for hours. Where had the other members of the house gotten to?

“I just want to see you okay, Stiles. I can’t… this sounds stupid because this morning I thought you were dead, but I can’t lose you again. You get that, right?” He asked, and his voice was entirely too afraid for someone who pretty much had his son revived.

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, Dad,” Stiles said, confused on what exactly his father was saying.

“It’s just… that’s how this all started. You, being in a place where I didn’t know how to help you, and me scared out of my mind that somehow… somehow that would drive you to do something… something you couldn’t take back.”

It took Stiles a couple of seconds to realize what his father was suggesting, but when he did it hit him like a train.

It was dangerous because he came entirely too close to confessing what he’d been doing all this time. A part of Stiles wanted to be mad, wanted to scream at his father for even thinking he’d ever do something like that, and throw at his face the blame for all the things he’d had to do ever since. If his father had sent him away because he was afraid Stiles may kill himself, then all the things that happened after were the biggest, sickest fucking irony in this rotten world, and Stiles wasn’t sure he could face it.

But then, John already blamed himself too much. If he learned what Stiles had done, who he had to become, he would probably never forgive himself (or his son). And despite everything, Stiles knew it had all been his choice. He had chosen to survive.

So he settled for what he wanted to believe the mature option. The past couldn’t be changed, and if he had learned something these years, was to suck it up and move on. He was stuck in this for better or worse, and he could not let his father think he was in any way to blame for what had happened, or that Stiles had been or would ever be in any danger from himself.

"Look, I don't know how to explain this, for who I am now and much less for what I felt when I was an overly emotional teenager, but I wouldn’t hurt myself. I can promise you that.” Retrospectively though, he could see what would have given his father that impression. Back then he had acted like it was the end of his world. He hadn’t known how much worse things could be.

It was way too late, or too early, to have that kind of conversation. Stiles could see the light of dawn shining on his father’s face, doubtful expression still quite visible. With a heartfelt sigh he continued.

"In the time I’vebeen gone…. Nothing has ever been even remotely good. I won’t go into detail and please don’t ask me to, but just know that it taught me that no matter what, there is nothing I wouldn't do to stay alive."

Thirty years in law enforcement taught a man a lot about human expression. That night (morning), the Sherriff looked at the man his son had become and, for once, believed in every word he’d said.

\---

 Jeremy’s men were closing in, he could hear them yelling, some in English and some in what he would interpret as  Greek if he’d been paying enough attention.

 The forest was not as thick as it had been around the camping area, it had been almost too easy to run from there, but now the trees were thinning and more rocky formations were becoming visible. They were becoming visible.

 Stiles wondered how long it would have taken for the guard who he’d knocked unconscious to wake up and raise the alarm. Not much seeing how fast their pursuers were gaining on them.

 They weren’t far from the place the prisoner had mentioned, a deep system of caves that might be enough to provide refuge from Jeremy and more importantly that, if it wasn’t flooded with water, might lead to the neighboring island if one took the time to explore it. Stiles hadn’t seen it during the plane crash, he’d been understandably distracted, but the island was actually a system of islands not that far from the continental ground, some of which were connected by submerged tunnels and had probably been a single large land mass that started to sink under the call of the ocean. More importantly, according to the prisoner one of the smaller ones was a very secluded touristic spot and the place he’d been headed for before being taken.

 Because it turned out, the prisoner was actually more than just a rich tourist, he was one of those tourists that chose to spend his money seeing how far he could go for the thrill of adrenaline. That was the only reason he’d been alone when Jeremy found him, he’d been exploring what he saw was the opening of a tunnel formation that he was sure ended in this particular island and wasn’t that just extremely lucky for them?

 Stiles figured that, even if they never found the cave, the prisoner was definitely getting his adrenaline thrill, silver lining and all of that.

 It had taken a week for the strange man to share his plan with Stiles and invite him in, the poor traumatized teenager. The only reason he had only gone along with it was because he knew he man would have tried it regardless.

 Suddenly he heard the first gunshot, which had to be Michael. Jeremy’s second in command was always a bit trigger happy and eager for a chase; he would have been a great hunter. Gerard would have loved the man.

Stiles looked back once and fell to the ground, Michael would be on him on seconds and the prisoner might have a chance to escape them. He would reach the caves and no one would find him, and whether he managed to escape or simply died there would be out of his reach. He would at least be free. In a split second decision Stiles leaped and tackled him.

 Michael and Jeremy pulled him away from the struggling man, a surprised look permanently frozen on his features.

 “The caves?” Jeremy was a large man, not overly brute, but not a presence that could be easily ignored. His frame seemed to take up the entire clearing they occupied.

 “We can see the entrance from here,” Stiles stood on shaky feet and waited for the leader to get closer to him. “I’ll show you.”

 The entrance to the caves wasn’t much at all, and if it wasn’t because the prisoner had taken him there, Stiles would have never found them. “Nice work. We’ve been looking for that for ages, real security breach.” The prisoner was screaming as he was beaten by Michael, not enough to ruin the face and lower the price but a good beating none the less. Stiles rationalized, the escape wouldn’t have worked anyway, Jeremy was the legal owner of all of the islands, even the touristic resort, and the prisoner would have been found eventually. He’d just saved everyone a lot of time and effort.

 “Come, this deserves a reward” Jeremy led Stiles away with a hand on his back, making his way to the mansion. Stiles tried to keep the tears from trailing down his cheeks. At least he would get a warm bed, and wouldn’t have to share it.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, new chapter. It took longer than I'd thought but I couldn't get it just how I wanted it.  
> For those who watch Arrow, you know that something terrible happened :( , eventually that something will find its way into the fic. Not for now at least.  
> Let me know what you think!

Birds were already chirping at the early morning sun by the time Stiles got to bed. Scott’s bed, whatever, it was soft and he’d spent almost a week sleeping on cardboards and a blanket in the town’s ruins. Any bed would do. Yes, he’d had worse in the past, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to reject a small comfort. Besides, sleeping on beds is what regular people do. And that’s what he was, just a regular guy. Right.

His father had almost crashed on the couch, but Stiles figured he could be an awesome son and prevent the unnecessary backache and lead him to his bed. He was only a little surprised to discover that said bed was also Melissa’s bed. Huh, it certainly took them long enough. It also explained just how his father had kept himself together over the years. Stiles realized he only felt bad about having missed the whole thing, not about his father moving on from losing his mother and him, which made him feel proud of himself. Nyssa had called him a silly child when they’d first met, too emotional and immature. It was good to know that all the hard work to “grow up” over the past few years had paid off. 

Speaking of Nyssa, it was high time he called his favorite assassin. But first, bed.

Scott’s room looked exactly as Stiles remembered it, which should have been comfortable but all it did was twist a knot in his stomach. Stiles’ comics were still there, the very comics Scott had borrowed and never gotten around to return; a poster from a movie they had seen together but couldn’t remember, he assumed there had been explosions. Even Stiles’ Lacrosse gear was still in Scott’s closet, he could remember leaving it there after practice the day before everything went to hell and he got kicked out of the pack.

The only difference was the pictures pinned to… yes, Stiles old corkboard. He wasn’t going to wonder how it made its way there. On closer inspection the whole pack was there, the members he knew plus some faces he hadn’t seen before. A blond baby-faced boy, a lovely Asian girl, another boy giving the first one a one armed hug. Neither was looking directly at the camera, three new werewolves then.

At least Derek had kept busy. It was only too bad that Scott’s room looked like some kind of shrine to the years gone by.

How would his own room have looked, before the earthquake?

Stiles changed into a pair of sweats and a well-worn t-shirt, courtesy of Scott’s drawers, and prepared himself for a restful nap. Over the years he had learned many things, a couple of new languages, the best way to sneak into someone’s home undetected and, more importantly, that life had a way of disappointing him. So it should have come as no surprise that after sleeping for what couldn’t be more than an hour he was woken by the feeling that someone was watching him.

Nyssa and Sara had done this to him often, first as part of the training and later as simple game. So he was really just acting on instinct and well-honed survival skills when he waited until the person approached him and flipped himself out the bed, effectively slamming into a solid chest with enough force to knock them over.

Now, if the assailant had been Sara, the following maneuver would have been a very childish tickle attack. Had it been an actual threat, well, Nyssa had covered that part in extremely graphic detail. However, since the intruder was none other than the resident Alpha, Stiles settled for an annoyed frown. Hey, his eyebrows could be communicative too.

Although he sort of really wanted to slam his fist on that shocked face.

“Really, Derek?” Stiles wasted no time getting away from the man. Maybe once upon a time he would have enjoyed the proximity, but not anymore. Not when he really (really!) wanted to punch him in the face.  Maybe he should have done it and just chalked it up to his surprise at the intrusion.

Too late for that now, so Stiles sat on the bed and waited silently for Derek to talk with a frown on his face. If his naptime was going to get interrupted, regardless of how childish it sounded, he was not going to cooperate and give Derek an easy time. The Alpha for his part seemed to have been rendered speechless, which was as far as he could recall his default setting. The fact that he hadn’t reacted with violence when he’d found himself flat on his back was more of a shock, although he probably hadn’t expected the poor little human to even realize there was someone in the room.

“Seriously, did you break in just to stare at me creepily?”

“No, I… I wanted to see you” finally the big bad wolf had regained his speech. “I wanted us to talk.”

He picked himself of the ground and sat at the foot of Scott’s bed. Stiles was itching to kick him out, but it was not his room and, as Scott’s Alpha, Derek probably had every right to make himself at home.

“There’s not much to talk about, Derek. Or maybe you want to ask me what I’ve been doing? Is that why you are here? Want to know why I didn’t call? You don’t really have the right to ask that, you know?” He asked irritably. Ok, so maybe he was less cucumber cool than he’d wanted.

He had in fact pictured the moment when he would see Derek again, many times and in different scenarios. So many, in fact, that he’d actually deluded himself into thinking he could be all “no hard feelings” about it. He’d managed it with Scott, who was really blameless, and his father, who only had his best interests at heart. Apparently Derek was a whole other story, and not just because right before being banished from the pack he was almost sure that he and Derek were well pass the friendship territory and approaching something… more.

Being kicked out of the pack didn’t just kill a little budding romance, he could have lived with that. Mainly because he and Derek had never officially been anything other than supposed packmates to each other. Losing the possibility of more had hurt, but it was a manageable kind of pain. It wasn’t as bad as losing Derek as a friend.

Yet it was more than just Derek. It had officially cut him off from all of his  _other_  friends, the people he interacted with every day. Becoming a cohesive pack hadn’t been easy, it had taken a lot of shared suffering, many disagreements and compromises and in the end it had been worth the effort. They were more than friends, they undoubtedly trusted each other. Until they were not there anymore.

He had gone from having a somewhat dysfunctional second family to being utterly alone. Worst of all, he had even lost his brother in the process. So maybe that was the actual reason he was so angry at Derek. He couldn’t blame Scott for not listening to his Alpha, even though he had at first. Similarly, he couldn’t blame the rest of the pack for doing the same. Deep down, he’d even understood where they were coming from, and while stupid and hurtful, it had all been an effort to keep him safe. Which had backfired terribly and unpredictably, but that was life.

Except in Derek’s case, he had made the choice to leave Stiles with nothing. So yeah, as far as he was concerned, he didn’t owe him anything.

“Last night. It was very sudden, when Scott called and then you two were there…” Derek said in that less-than-eloquent way of his. Asshole.

“Yeah, I get that. Nobody expects to see someone who has been dead for five years, yadda yadda, but is not like we saw all that much of each other even before that, so you really don’t need to bother. Seriously, don’t.” Stiles said, because he didn’t have the energy for this. Derek would really make them both a favor if he just got the hell out of here.

Derek looked at him with what only could be described as pure disbelief. “Don’t bother?!”

“Derek…” he was really starting to lose his temper.

“I thought you were  _dead_ , Stiles,” Derek replied with an outraged expression in his face. “We all did. Do you even know how that feels? You can’t just brush it aside like-”

“Like you did with me before that?” Stiles snapped back. “What, because it totally hurts less that someone you care about  _completely disappears_ from your life if they’re not dead? How about  _all_  of your friends at once, have you tried that? Because I have a lot of experience in the not nice department, and that’s still pretty up there in the list.”

“I  _am_  sorry, but you have to know it was never meant to hurt you.” Derek said, trying (and kinda failing) to keep his voice in check.

“Okay, you know what? Fuck this. That better be an apology for waking me up, because if that’s all you are going to say about what you had Scott do… You couldn’t even be bothered to tell me yourself…” He let himself trail off, almost too angry to muster more words. He knew if he started shouting right now he just wouldn’t stop.

“Stiles.” The werewolf looked ridiculously close to tears and Stiles was proud to find himself unmoved.

“Don’t. Just leave, Derek. I can’t talk to you, I don’t want to talk to you. So, leave.”

Strangely enough, he did. Stiles could tell the Alpha was straining his nose while retreating trying to get through scent all of the things Stiles wasn’t saying.

Watching the werewolf scurry away and out of sight, Stiles figured that maybe (just maybe) he wasn’t as “over it” as he’d originally thought. It was definitely time to call Nyssa.

\---

Stiles could hear his father moving on the room across his in a comfortable way, like someone who was right at home. 

Speaking of home, the other inhabitants had arrived at some point of the morning. Stiles felt mildly guilty about forcing both Melissa and Mr. Argent to stay at the hospital overnight (he was sure the check-up couldn’t have lasted more than an hour, if it was even real), but he did appreciate the extra time he got to spend alone with his father. He had the feeling that the only reason he’d even been left alone was because Scott requested it, but soon the rest of the pack would be stopping by. It would be… difficult, to say the least. He’d missed them terribly, but he couldn’t just ignore what they had done and the way they had made him feel.

Melissa and Argent (call me Chris) were very tactful about the whole thing, or about as tactful as could be expected, for which he was grateful. At least, they had managed to keep the questions to the minimum. They’d arrived from the hospital to find him eating a slice of buttered bread for breakfast. A more frugal meal than they’d expected, which Melissa had actually commented on.

“It has to be the first time I see you actually chew your food. Is that all you are having?” She was readying pancake mix even as she spoke.

“I got used to smaller breakfasts.” Even when he was out of the island and on regular meals again, ‘eat till you burst’ wasn’t a habit he could get back to. Besides, having a heavy stomach wasn’t very wise in his line of work, and he had to adapt. He’d adapted to a lot of things.

“So, Stiles,” Mr. Argent had maneuvered his chair around the table with surprising ease. Earlier, Stiles had been under the impression that the wheelchair was a recent development, yet the man controlled it with an expert’s hand. “I’m assuming you came to see if your father was well, after the earthquake I mean.”

Interrogation time! Fun.

“Well, yeah. Having your entire town blown up is the kind of thing that worries people. I figured the pack would be involved, too.” Stiles was focusing on his slice of bread, but with Argent’s eyes on him (he just couldn’t think of him as “Chris”), it was obvious that was not going to cut it. Eye contact, then.

“A logical assumption. You’ve been abroad, then?” He had known there would be some questioning. He was pulling a resurrection on his family after all. But he could also hear a little judgment there, something he could have expected from Melissa or one of his dad’s men, not from frienemy Argent.

Melissa mixed the batter with extra strength. “Is your father…?”

“Heard him getting up when I came down. We tucked in rather late last night. Uh, today I guess.” Stiles replied, glad for the interruption.

With a small, calculated cough Chris brought the attention back to himself. “Have you been here long?”

Ah, there it was. He could lie, but Derek would certainly find his hiding spot and be able to tell he hadn’t just arrived. Maybe he should be a little more honest about this one, there would be plenty to lie about later.

“Not too long, but I’ve been wondering around for some days”, he said vaguely. “I didn’t really know how to approach.”

Or, he’d been about to leave when Scott found him. Same thing.  And yep, there was more judgment in that face now.

“I think your father would have appreciated any kind of approach.” Okay then, somewhere along the way a friendship had been born between the two men. Good to know and it also went a step towards explaining the living arrangements.

After that it was awkward silence until the Sheriff appeared. And then pancakes.

“Hey dad. Good morning.” God, it had been so easy the night before when it was only them, why was he suddenly eager to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time? He was usually capable of handling any kind of situation with perfect detachment.

“Morning, son.” He was still looking at him with wonder, like he half expected Stiles’ return to have been just a dream. It twisted something inside him.

Breakfast was still awkward as hell. Clearly his father didn’t know what to say or ask, or whether he should even ask any questions.  Melissa and Chris were also focused on their respective food and Stiles kept cursing himself for not running when he had the chance, for not returning earlier, for returning at all.

“Sooo,” divine inspiration, strike now. “How did this living arrangement happen?” Yes, safe enough.

The Sheriff shared a look with Melissa and Chris looked amused (dear god!).

“Well, there was an incident with demons.” Melissa took up the story-telling, and it was shocking just how normal that sounded. Demon talk over breakfast, of course. “Chris was injured, as you can see.”

So it was a recent thing, he could vaguely remember Erica mentioning something about it. At the time his head had been in the conversation with his dad, so it didn’t really stick. 

What followed was a story about a sneak attack at the Argent home, where Chris had lived alone, and a permanent spine injury. Allison had wanted to take her father to her apartment, but it was already cramped and located on a fourth floor without elevator. Good old Isaac had been completely on board with taking his almost father-in-law in, having grown attached over time, but it just wasn’t doable. Finally it was decided that since the Stilinski home only had one occupant and a guest room on the ground floor and it might be a good idea if the men lived together, as they had already become friends over the years so it wouldn’t be an imposition.

Then the earthquake had happened and the house had been destroyed, which forced them to move in to the McCall house until other arrangements could be made. Melissa even claimed the bed sharing with his dad was nothing more than lack of space in the house, which would be more convincing if Chris Argent of all people hadn’t  _actually rolled his eyes_  at the statement, or if her face hadn’t turned completely red.

So they were either still dancing around each other, or didn’t want to make it official for some reason. At least he hadn’t missed the whole thing.

The conversation moved on to the pack. Scott had called Melissa to let her know there would be a welcome home party and refused to listen to reason when she told him it could be too much for Stiles. Even Lydia had agreed to come.

“The thing with Lydia,” his father visibly hesitated, “she wasn’t doing very well after you… and, well, after that she was seeing one of the twins, I don’t know if you remember.”

He nodded to show he did remember. He hadn’t liked the twins, particularly the one that had been involved with Lydia. They were the enemy and he felt like they shouldn’t have been allowed to get so close to the pack, particularly since they had been involved with the kidnapping of Erica and Boyd. It was only luck that they had both managed to escape alive.

“Well, he was killed about a year later.” Stiles tried to look sympathetic, but he wasn’t sad the guy was dead. He was all for killing him when he first showed up but Lydia had cared about him. “And during the demons attack… well, Natalie didn’t make it.”

And just like that, talking to Nyssa got pushed back in the list of priorities.

….

The jeep was gone. After Stiles’ death, the Sheriff hadn’t seen the need to keep it, mostly because it was too painful to have it around and see it every day. It had been his wife’s first car, she’d bought it simply because of the color (found it hilarious for some reason) and he’d liked it because it was a pretty sturdy car, one that would keep her safe if she ever found herself in an accident. Too bad it couldn’t keep her safe from an illness.

When she’d died, he’d thought about selling it, even had a potential buyer lined up, but little Stiles had thrown a fit. It was mom’s and it had to stay, so it did. It stayed locked away in the garage for almost ten years until Stiles was old enough to have it. The Sheriff hadn’t been able to even look at it at first, so he’d paid a mechanic to take it out for check-ups regularly and then to make the final verifications before it was time for Stiles to drive it.

Then Stiles died. Not really, but at the time it’s what they’d all thought. He tried to give it to Scott, but the kid wouldn’t go near it. No one in the pack would. So why leave it in the garage? There would be no one to use it, nobody who would want it. He had sold it to the first person who offered to buy it, none other than his deputy Parrish, and he was pretty sure it was only done out of pity. Or maybe thinking that he would regret giving it away some day.

Maybe he would regret it, now that things had changed. Now that Stiles was back, he would surely want his car. Even if his son had climbed into the patrol car without question and hadn’t even mentioned his own precious jeep.

Currently, both Stilinski men were sitting on the patrol car approaching the town’s border. Stiles had declared that he wanted to talk to Lydia as soon as possible, which turned out to mean before his party, so he would go and meet her just out of town before she arrived, mainly because once the party started it would be difficult to talk to her alone.

 “So, anyone special in your life?” The Sheriff had grown tired of the silence and his inability to make conversation with his son. It was mainly due to the unreality of the situation, but John knew there was more. For all the changes that 5 years could do in a person, Stiles was still his son, and he wasn’t as good in fooling his father as he liked to think.

He was an observant man, he had to be to have kept his job for so many years. So it was easy to tell the many ways in which Stiles was different, and it wasn’t even a matter of the passing of time.

From the way he moved, far more measured than it had ever been, to the way he suddenly seemed capable of staying quiet and focused on a single task, something he’d never seen him do before.  They had been on the patrol for almost ten minutes and Stiles hadn’t fidgeted once. Granted, ten minutes was not an awful long time, yet his Stiles had never managed to stay still for more than three minutes. He’d timed it. The more the initial shock wore off, the more he noticed the many things that were different. 

“I made some friends.” Was Stiles’ only reply.

While he had always known it was best to let Stiles come to him (because if he was pushed, Stiles would close himself like a clamp), he also knew this time was different. His son’s new persona was not only that of a child who had to grow up too fast because of a tragedy. He wore the semblance of a man who had changed because he had seen too much pain not too. And not the kind of pain the Sheriff had suffered these last years, either.

He knew he couldn’t just face his son and demand answers, partly because he didn’t want to force him and mainly because he didn’t know what kind of hell that would open in Stiles’ mind. He didn’t know what he had gone through, didn’t know what he had experienced, but he did know it was beyond anything he had ever seen, and he had been fricking Sheriff for more years that he cared to count in a place that would easily count as cursed. Stiles didn’t look traumatized in any form, though he did appear to be a bit over vigilant. He had looked very closely at anyone that got too close to the patrol during the drive. Which could be attributed to the fact that people from Beacon Hills looked less than friendly lately.

From the things he could pick up from the previous day’s conversation, he was pretty sure the island Stiles’ had been living for god knows how long had been in the power of dangerous people, and the sole fact that he was alive and back meant Stiles’ had had to see and do things he would never be able to forget. His son had never outright said it, but he mentioned people disappearing, small ships being taken, someone named Jeremy who was mentioned always in passing but with a voice full of venom.

The man knew how to put pieces together and complete a story. Not only that, but when Stiles had mentioned the location of the island, he could remember hearing something about it on the news, nothing good, of course. He would have checked it immediately after hearing the story but was simply too exhausted to do it and let Stiles lead him to his bed. He would check once Stiles had met Lydia.

His son had always been the kind of person who needed to fix things. Maybe because he felt he couldn’t do anything to save his mom (he could relate), but growing up, he had always looked for ways to help, ways to make people’s lives easier. As soon as he was old enough (honestly, it started when he was still a bit too young for it) Stiles had started looking after his father, making sure all meals were respected and, after a while, making sure they followed a strict nutritional rule. It was annoying but he’d indulged his son, after all he knew the ever present fear of losing the last family he had left. Stiles had indulged his overprotective tendencies as well, until his teenage years at least.

When he joined the werewolf pack, he knew he was always helping Scott and the others by extension every time they needed it. For all Stiles had hidden from him back then, after he was gone there were times Scott could talk of nothing else. There was no adventure the Sheriff didn’t know every detail about anymore.

So the fact he most likely hadn’t been able to help all those people, the fact that he had survived while so many others had probably not made it, so many that were probably shipped off to terrible fates, he could understand how that could change a person. Even more a person like his son. Worse of all, he didn’t want to think about what Stiles might had done to get out. Because any option he could think of was just as bad as the next, and he wouldn’t put his son in the place where he had to relive it.

So try and focus on non-horrible things. He wasn’t sure about what else to do.

\--

“Dad, Lydia can drive me, you don’t have to wait in the car” they had arrived at the dinner a few minutes prior and Lydia wasn’t expected to arrive for another half hour.

After calling Scott and getting Lydia’s number he’d texted her, Stiles figured that hearing his voice all of the sudden might be a bit much while she was supposed to be driving. She had, in fact, been driving all night and early morning after getting Scott’s call. She replied immediately with a short and dry text telling him to wait for her at Margo’s, an old dinner at the edge of town that had fortunately survived the earthquake.

For a second he was sixteen again, Lydia had called so he had to answer. He hadn’t actually called her, but the feeling remained regardless.

It also provided ample opportunity to call Nyssa, if he could convince his father to leave him alone to wait for Lydia.

“I don’t know, Stiles. Things here are not like you remember them.” His father kept looking over his shoulder particularly at the empty lot next to the dinner.

“Yeah, I noticed. Seriously, I’ll stay inside until Lydia gets here, we’ll talk and then drive straight back to the house.” He understood why the man was so nervous. During the week he’d spent on No Man’s Land he’d seen his fair share of unsavory individuals.  Hell, he’d kicked out of town a few of them, particularly those who looked like they belong to some kind of gang.

It was refreshing, running around throwing a punch here and there.

“I can wait with you, I’ll just call Parrish and have him cover me.”

“Dad, no. You have to work, I am capable of waiting by myself for a few minutes.” More than the danger, his father was afraid that Stiles would just vanish into thin air. It didn’t take a genius to be able to tell, he could see it just by the way in which he fidgeted and stood so close to Stiles they were practically touching. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll see you tonight. Okay?”

The Sheriff sighed, both resigned and regretful. “You’ll stay here?”

“Yes! Promise, I can look after myself.” Boy, was that an understatement.

And so he was alone. He wasted no time heading to the empty lot and trotting across it until he was facing the abandoned building on the other side, a former hardware store if he recalled correctly.

He looked around him but the entire lot was empty, minus the mandatory garbage bags and random pieces of clutter. And some stains that looked suspiciously like blood, well, not his problem. The windows were boarded but a well-placed kick was enough to let him through.

He dialed the number on his handy phone even as he crawled through the window and checked the space for intruders. It was thankfully empty of people and full of dust and spider webs, perfect for a clandestine rendezvous. All members of the league were given secure lines to use as communication and plenty of burner phones for emergencies. Stiles had stashed a few around town when it became obvious he was not leaving anytime soon. After all, he could afford to leave them behind if necessary, the very definition of burner phone implied it. It was pure luck he was carrying one in his pocket when Scott found him, it was unlikely that he’d be able to sneak away from his father and the pack to retrieve the other ones.

Nyssa picked up on the second ring. She always did that, like she walked around with a phone glued to her hand waiting to be called.

“So, my little Al-Ghudaf finally deigns to call.” She purred softly over the line, as she tended to do when trying to be intimidating. Any other person who knew Nyssa would be ready to panic at that point, yet Stiles knew her enough to recognize the innocent teasing for what it was. It was a subtle difference, but it was there.

“Yes, how is my little Heir to the Demon?” He moved an overturned table out the way and propped himself comfortably on the counter.

“Do not mock!”

“Then lower the dramatics, Sara and I have been telling you that for a while.” A spider was crawling over his arm, it tickled. “You should listen to us.”

Nyssa chuckled on the other side of the line and a painful grunt was heard.

“Oh! Is it a bad time?” he’d been hoping to have a long chat, but he could wait if she was busy. It was never easy to take a call on the job. He knew from experience.

“No need, I am done.” A strong wind could be heard, was she racing across a rooftop?

“Good, so big news! My dad knows I’m alive… and so does the rest of the pack.” He was kind of sheepish about that. He had told her he would keep it a secret, fuck, he’d told R’as that. “Don’t be mad! Nothing’s changed.”

He could hear her sighing. It was going to be bad.

“You know you are not a hostage right? You could have told your father the moment you finished training and swore to the League. You are not the first of us to leave to continue with your lives. As long you answer our call, it’s all allowed.” Yeah, he knew, which only made staying away harder. But how could he tell his father what he’d become? Was he supposed to come back and say he killed people for a living? Or just disappear for days to do a job and basically live a giant lie.

“Nyssa, I told you I couldn’t. And now what am I supposed to do?” he needed advice, and he couldn’t think of a single other person better suited for that role than her.

“You could stay, we can basically work form anywhere, you know that. Again, you wouldn’t be the first to do it.” She wasn’t worried, it was clear from her voice. It didn’t help since he was close to panic.

“I don’t want to!” and that was the truth. “I want to go back, I can barely speak to my father, I don’t know how I’m supposed to lie to a bunch of werewolves… I want to go back, things are easier there.” He jumped of the counter and got tangled up. Scott’s pants didn’t really suit him but his own clothes were currently being washed. A week of crawling around No Man’s Land had done no favors to his jeans and all of his spare clothes were left behind in his comfortable little hole. He’d have to go get it eventually, at least he knew his “neighbors” wouldn’t dare touch anything of his. They tried the day he arrived, he recalled with a smile. His amusement was easily erased when Nyssa sighed again over the line.

Stiles wanted to go back to Ra’s, Nyssa and Sara. His friend/mentor knew that. He wanted to go back where he wouldn’t have to compare himself to the regular people who didn’t kill other people for a living. He wanted to go back to the life he’d made for himself, so different from what he’d imagined it would be when he was a child. Most of all, he couldn’t bear the look of disappointment his father would have when he found out the truth. And he would. Of course he would.

“Stiles, listen to me. If your father knows you are alive, then he will not let you just disappear from the map again. Neither will the wolves.” All of the sudden she sounded serious, in the deadly way she got when she was about to show him his next target. “We don’t need people looking for us, it never ends well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not a threat, but we are cautious. You know that.” She paused like she was deep in thought. “Do you want my advice?”

It was such a rhetorical question that Stiles didn’t bother with a reply. He just waited for Nyssa to tell him what he should do.

“Stay for a while. Like I said, no one will make you do anything, but… this is an unfinished business for you and you know what it is like for us when we have something hanging over us. It’s distracting and we can’t afford to be distracted. So stay, and try to sort it out. You can always come back later.”

It sounded reasonable enough and though it did nothing to dislodge the knot from his chest he could at least breathe a little easier. Nyssa would inform R’as and if he wanted him back he would up and leave without feeling too guilty. For his father, he would try, for a while.

“Fine,” Stiles sighed. It didn’t seem like he had any other choice. “But I’ll miss you and Sara and that’s going to suck.”

“It will be for the best,” Nyssa said, sounding satisfied with his answer. Suddenly the mocking tone reappeared. “Besides, it will give you time with your _Sourwolf_.” He hanged up on her without a second thought, happy to be one of the very few people in the world who could survive doing it. He could almost hear her laughter in his head.

All in all, he was in a tolerable mood by the time Lydia arrived.

 


	5. Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry it took so long, I kept adding and adding things and never got to the point where it was enough. Anyway, here it is!
> 
> CLARIFICATION: as you know this is a crossover, next episode we’ll start seeing the cameos from Arrow. The story will be following the timeline from Arrow but centered around season two, right now we are at the finale of season one but I plan to make the events move a bit faster, mainly because Stiles will, at some point, go to Starling and meet Oliver….I’m really excited about that part.
> 
> Another thing, Stiles favored weapon is inspired in the one used by Bobby Morse (Mockingbird) in the Marvel universe, keep in mind that the DC tv-series universe is “real” and the whole Marvel universe is fiction. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Margot’s was almost empty, which made sense because not many people dared to walk around the outskirts of town these days and those who did were the kind of people that should be avoided. Stiles was actually a bit worried that Lydia would suggest such a place for their meeting and for a moment channeled his father, chastising her in his mind. Except he was right to be worried because Lydia could actually get hurt whereas he was a bit tougher now than what his father remembered.

Either way, the place looked like a mockery of the dinner he remembered. The furniture was the same, minus a few chairs and tables; however, the clientele was certainly different. He had almost decided to wait for Lydia at the door and insist they went back to Scott’s house when the object of her thoughts walked in.

For a moment he could only think of the last memory he had of her. It was after he’d been suspended from school thanks to the pack’s poorly executed plans and Scott had unceremoniously kicked him out “for his own good”. She had looked at him when he was emptying his locker escorted by the principal and without any hesitation she’d walked away from him on the school halls, her cherry hair swinging gently behind her.

He barely resisted the urge to walk out the door before she saw him. She looked as if she hadn’t aged a day. Maybe an inch taller and a bit thinner. What was almost upsetting though was just how sad she seemed when he finally found her face. She looked at him with watery eyes but no tears fell. She had just lost her mother less than a month ago, so whatever she was feeling about seeing him alive and well, it could never outweigh that. He knew from experience.

It was terrible that Natalie had died. Involving her in the supernatural had never even crossed Lydia’s mind, in that respect she’d felt exactly like he had about endangering his father. Except he hadn’t been given a choice. The Alpha pack and then the Darach had caused enough trouble that the Sheriff had to become involved if only to help them cover up the ever growing list of bodies. Sadly, at the time that hadn’t eased the relationship with his father, it only added an extra layer of doubt and everything Stiles did was looked with new suspicion.

But Natalie, she’d been completely innocent in the whole thing and had remained ignorant until the end. At least that’s what the Sheriff had told him on the ride. Stiles had insisted on being told the details so Lydia wouldn’t have to do it herself.

It was uncomfortable to say the least. Lydia had made an aborted move to hug him when she’d finally reached him and finally settled for a quick nod of the head. It was for the best, he wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy and apparently he could only extend his good disposition to Scott and his father.

They ordered in silence. The only waitress working looked unbelievably relieved to be away from the further corner of the dinner, where a loud group of four man were catcalling her. Stiles remained unconcerned. He’d seen two of the men before down at the tunnels and knew they were all bark and no bite. Still, one could never be too sure since there was a thing called safety in numbers that might make them a bit overconfident. Either way, as long as they left Lydia alone, it wasn’t his problem.

They waited in silence until they orders arrived, two slices of pie and black coffee. The only thing on the menu other that hamburgers and fries. Finally, when it seemed like they would remain silent until it was time to leave for Scott’s, Stiles opened his mouth.

“You really believed I was alive?” it was unexpected. Lydia was nothing if not logical and had he not been there he wouldn’t have believed in his own survival. Much less would he have believed everything that happened afterwards.

“Well, Scott did. Was very insisting about it. Eventually, I guess I started believing it too.” She sipped her coffee distractedly.

“Scott… he doesn’t look alright.” That was a bit of an understatement. Given Lydia’s expression she seemed to agree.

“Of course he’s not. Kira helped, so did having Liam and Mason around, but he’s not okay.” She waved her hand impatiently when Stiles opened his mouth. “You’ll meet them at the party and Scott will tell you about them then.” 

Stiles drank his too hot coffee in almost one go, happy for the distraction. He felt bad about Scott, his father and Lydia even if he knew he shouldn’t. Even if he knew they’d made the choice to push him away and completely ignored his complaints that he needed the pack. While it was not their idea they still went along with Derek’s plans.

Yeah, they’d abandoned him but he’d managed to move on from it and make a life for himself. He’d suffered greatly on the way, yet he’d come out of it so much stronger, the others looked like shadows of what they’d been. Lydia was usually so strong and proud, to see her so diminished by pain and loss was almost more agonizing than anything that had happened to him. Almost.

“So.”

“So, Scott. Yes, he made me look for you, try to hear you or hear from you. I got nothing, it broke my heart every time until I realized.” The loud men were harassing the waitress again and Stiles was getting annoyed at the unnecessary racket.

“Realized?”

She looked seriously at him. “It was a good thing! I couldn’t hear you. So you couldn’t have belonged to the realm of the dead.” A tiny smile played on her lips, the first one he’d seen.

Stiles took a moment to really look at her, she was different in many ways. Back in their teenage years she wouldn’t have admitted that it hurt her to look for him and find nothing. She was more open now, wore her emotions more freely, maybe he could get used to that. However, there were other things too, small details that troubled him.

“There were other things too. I mean, they never found your body. So, you know, there was always the possibility.”

“Many bodies weren’t found.” It was true, he’d read about the accident about a year later, 236 people had gone missing and were presumed dead while only 130 something bodies were found.

Lydia didn’t answer, she just sighed and twirled her fork before cutting a small piece of pie. The four men left, refusing to pay the bill, of course. Seriously, people this days. 

“And after Oliver Queen…” Yes, he could see why that would be relevant to his situation, if only by proxy. He’d heard about it in detail, Sara had almost taken off to Starling City when she heard the news only to change her mind at the last minute.

Smirking internally, he decided to be obtuse. “What about him?” Predictably, Lydia snapped at him like she would have done years before. It was refreshing.

“Wherever you were, you must have heard of it! Scott wouldn’t shut up about it. The accident was similar even if he was on a boat and you were on a plane. Still, the odds were about the same and you had the advantage of not being a spoilt rich kid.” Was that a barb at Jackson? She paused to look at him considering. “Stranger things have happened, he was missing for five years only to return and become a vigilante.”

Stiles coughed up the slice of apple pie that had suddenly gone down the wrong pipe. Lydia offered him her glass of water with a mocking smile. “What? It’s pretty obvious.”

That was exactly the girl he remembered, the perfect combination of brains and arrogance. “Oliver Queen?!” he was happy that he was able to pass his surprise at her ability to identify the vigilante as surprise at what she’d actually said. Sara had, of course, already informed them of the Hood’s real identity. She’d said she recognized the green hood he wore and the bow he used, although she refused to elaborate on the circumstances that originated that knowledge.

“Yes, of course. He returns from a mysterious island and days later a vigilante starts to prowl the city. Not to mention that they have the exact same height and body type.” She sighed, like momentarily overcome by the world’s stupidity. “I swear, it’s like a superhero syndrome. I mean, I always thought it was kind of silly no one knew Peter Parker was Spiderman, but I could ignore it in favor of suspension of disbelief. This is real life and frankly inexcusable.”

Well, he shouldn’t’ have been surprised, if anyone had the ability to look at a masked man and tell who he was without even being face to face with him, it would be Lydia.

“It makes me wonder.” She flipped a lock of hair behind her back in a gesture that was clearly faked nonchalance. 

“Wonder about what?”

“What surprises you have.” He smiled at her. She was still Lydia, alright.

Did joining an international organization of elite assassins count as a surprise? Probably.

“Who knows, maybe I’ve been building a super suit and now I’m Iron Man. Wouldn’t that be cool?” as expected, Lydia didn’t dignify that with a response.

\----

_The leader’s name was Jeremy, it was first thing he learned upon being captured._

_Jeremy was not a person to mess with. That was his second lesson, maybe the most important one._

_The weather in the island was surprisingly non tropical. In the months he’d been there it had only rained twice, once before he was captured and once after. Although, looking at the sky, it was safe to say that the third time was about to happen. He’d chosen a terrible time to talk back to Jeremy._

_Stiles was currently locked in one of the cages that the men used to keep the merchandise. Not the people, no. The ‘merchandise’. By now, he couldn’t be sure if it would be worst to end up like one of those unfortunate souls, because his other choices weren’t that good either. It was his fault, really. He knew better than to brood about his past while the man was around him. Thinking about his father and the pack always made him snappy and Jeremy had a way of making him nervous, so it was no wonder he let his mouth run. Jeremy barely gave him a glance before sending him off, like he was tired of his childish nonsense. But then, he was also removing some poor guy’s fingernails at the time, so maybe he was just busy._

_Stiles knew even with the impending rain, he was lucky that this was his punishment. A slap in the wrist, nothing more, and it put him on edge. The things he had seen Jeremy do, the things Jeremy made his men do, Stiles wasn’t used to such a cruelty coming from something actually human. The torture meant for Stiles though seemed to be of a different sort._

_Oh, he had to endure some normal torture alright. When he was first found, Jeremy was sure he was some sort of spy or military asset or both. He’d had Stiles handcuffed to a chair for a few days, asking him questions over and over like he expected him to slip. When no information came, Jeremy let the muscle ‘convince’ him._

_But no matter how many punches, Stiles didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say but the truth. Well, luckily they never asked about his life in Beacon Hills, not that there was much to tell anymore, but his ‘occupation’ (high school student) and how he got into the island (plane crash) were the truth. They even tried the ‘drown you in freezing water’ thing for a bit, which he honestly thought he wouldn’t survive, but when it was over and it was obvious Stiles wouldn’t change his story, the torture stopped._

_It was just his luck, really. After running with wolves for almost two years he had picked up a thing or two and Jeremy had been more than a bit intrigued by the little boy (eighteen, screw you!) who had managed to avoid his highly trained men. By the end though he probably just found his attitude amusing. After confirming that he was just a terribly unfortunate Californian boy and not some undercover agent, he’d decided to keep him. Whatever that meant._

_He seemed to be somewhere between a pet and a servant. He had to do whatever Jeremy wanted, which ranged from mopping the floors to reading him the newspaper while he did “other” things. But at least the other guys didn’t mess with him (Jeremy was jealous with his toys) and he seemed to have ‘options’ to choose from.  Stiles’ options were restricted to whether he’d spend the night with Jeremy (something he’d rather not think about) or in his too-thin mattress in the laundry room. He always chose the second, but soon realized it didn’t come without a price._

_He was sure there was something voyeuristic about it, but his punishment was always to watch. Jeremy would call him from whatever obligation he had just to have him standing around while he did business. Jeremy’s definition of ‘business’ was frankly horrifying, but he always seemed to be enjoying it double when Stiles was there to watch._

_At first Stiles just had to stand around while Jeremy intimidated ‘business partners’. Later, he also had to be present for when one of the men disobeyed Jeremy’s orders. Then he had to be present for when Jeremy got the merchandizing ready. That was probably the worst since he could easily picture himself in their place._

_Because Jeremy’s business wasn’t only to sell people, he took pride on the fact that he custom-made the merchandise his buyers needed. The only kind of slaves he didn’t sell were soldiers, apparently because it took too much time to train them and the need for them to keep a backbone for fighting clashed with Jeremy’s methods._

_Because his specialty, the real one, was to break people._

_The biggest requirement in the slave business was making sure they wouldn’t try to scape. It was made easier by the fact Jeremy sold workers for remote, dangerous places, places were normal people just didn’t go to, where running would be useless. Besides, by the time Jeremy was done with them they were never the same._

_The ‘training’ meant pretty much driving fear so deep into these people they would lose any desire to fight. This island was hell for them, and their only release was to become slaves for someone else, a relief most of them accepted gladly._

_It was a process, perfectly timed like a well-oiled machine. They took people who already were invisible, who nobody would be looking for. The first week for each new batch always meant both physical and psychological draining. Little sleep, little food, beatings at all ours just for the fun of it and the wrong end of sharp knifes to those who tried to rebel. Jeremy always knew were to cut to make the pain unbearable but never fatal._

_The strongest would later be sorted by endurance and abilities and then be sent away to the hardest parts of the world. The pretty ones, men or women, always ended up been prepped as sex workers, a ‘training’ Stiles luckily still hadn’t had to witness yet. If anyone asked him, he’d confidently say they had it worse._

_So really, sleeping in the rain seemed a bit like a joke of a punishment, and it drove Stiles crazy because he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Jeremy was planning something, he always watched Stiles like there was a secret he was keeping from him, like maybe he already knew what he would do with Stiles and just took pleasure in leaving him wondering._

_Stiles startled out of his thoughts when a small spider crawled by his leg and reminded him of his current situation. Jeremy found him entertaining, yes, but everything had a limit and apparently Stiles was reaching his. He’d sassed back and was locked out on one of the cages for the night, but mostly it felt like Jeremy was taking his time before deciding what to do with him._

_Would the pack be happy now? Was he safe and sound from all supernatural threats? Stiles knew it was these kind of thoughts the ones that got him into trouble, because he would lose himself in memories and resentment, but he couldn’t stop._

_If he got on a plane, of course said plane would crash into the ocean. And if he, by sheer fortune, managed to survive, of course he would end up in an island that served as base for a human trafficking ring led by a psychopath, who would of course get interested in him. It was just his luck._

_But almost worst, the idea of escaping this hell didn’t give him much hope either. Yes, he missed his father like a severed limb, but he couldn’t separate him and his past life from the disappointment of being tossed of like garbage by the people he considered family._

_He was never pack, he’d just been the human they called when they needed help. Scott didn’t use those exact words, but it had been implied. It was even more evident in the way Isaac pranced around school always by Scott’s side once he didn’t have to fight Stiles over the attention. It was in the way Erica and Boyd had just continued with their life as if Stiles had never existed. The way Derek would drive around in the Camaro and pass Stiles like he was just part of the décor._

_He had dedicated years of his life to the pack, to helping Derek transform a bunch of egotistical teenagers into a unity and just when they were getting there they decide he is disposable? Yes, the threat of the week had almost landed him in prison, had almost cost his father his job (again) and he’d been suspended from school. But he was sure there had to be a better way to deal with it than expelling him from the pack and removing all of his emotional support. What would they think if they learned the end result was this?_

_His time in the cage didn’t even last until the rain came because Jeremy had caught one of his men taking an extra cut from a sale and wanted an audience for the punishment._

\----

The ride home was quick and silent, although thankfully not the uncomfortable kind of silence. Stiles had clearly taken notice of the fact that Lydia was not going to talk about her mother and decided to play along. Whenever she was ready to talk she would and if not, that was okay too.

All in all, he was nervous enough and staying alone with his thoughts sounded great for the time being. He knew seeing the whole pack wouldn’t be easy. Usually larger gatherings were his preferred environment as they provided the necessary anonymity for…well, both personal and professional business. This particular party would be anything but anonymous, in fact he would be the very center of attention. The pack would expect him to…what? Interact? Sure, he could do that. Be happy to see them? Maybe, he could fake it if necessary, but he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to react. Truthfully, he’d been happy to see his father and Scott, seeing Erica hadn’t awakened anything in him whether positive or negative, and he’d been glad to see Lydia. So far, all of the anger seemed to be directed only at Derek and for good reason.

Yet, he could still remember how lonely he’d felt, how terrified of everything he’d been. He wasn’t a teenage boy anymore, he wasn’t even a regular 22 year old. He’d been trained extensively by some of the hardest and more skilled people in the world and taught to put his past behind him. But as much as the League had told him to control his emotions so that his memories would not hurt him, a lot of it still felt fresh.

Should he be cold towards them? Should he act like all was well and forgiven? It wasn’t, but over time he’d managed to distance himself from what had happened to him. Not forget…never forget. The League’s intensive and sometimes brutal training had shaped him into a person the pack wouldn’t recognize, should he let them see that? He knew what the normal reaction would be. Anyone who had gone through the things he’d experienced would be furious, would take the opportunity to yell at his former friends and maybe throw things around. They would cry for sure. Stiles wasn’t that kind of person anymore. Yet he couldn’t just forgive them and act as if nothing was happening. Nyssa had said he should give it a go, just try to be in town for a few days, but he had doubts.

He was not looking forward to seeing the pack again.

When they got to Scott’s house it was still a bit early, so luckily only Scott was home. The Sheriff was working and wouldn’t be back until almost midnight, Stiles hoped the meeting would be dwindling down by then though he wasn’t very hopeful and Melissa was at the hospital. That left only Mr. Argent, who he could escape by climbing the stairs, and now Lydia.

As soon as he’d arrived Scott had hugged him as passionately as he had the previous night and promptly declared he needed a shower.

“Dude, I only have this T-shirt with me.” He had managed to scatter his belongings all over town just in case, everything hidden away. He’d packed light and his “civilian” clothes were left in what had been his bed the week he’d stayed in No Man’s Land. His uniforms – as he called the clothes afforded by the League, much to Nyssa’s annoyance – was secured away next town over. He hadn’t been sure the wolves wouldn’t pick up his scent, and he couldn’t afford to be careless with that. The black uniform and hood along with the knives and additional weaponry were unreachable enough that it would be impossible to find by accident yet close enough that he’d be able to race over and retrieve them if he had to. Besides, he could always improvise.

Scott looked at him strangely, which was understandable, it was bad enough that he’d shown up out of nowhere, but to think that he’d done so with only the clothes on his back was even more worrying. He could almost picture Scott’s brain reaching all of the wrong conclusions.

“I’ll lend you something.”

\---

Scott was running around setting plates with snacks and empty cups around the living room. The pack had started to arrive while Stiles was still in the shower so he’d taken up hosting duties. Lydia was in the house as well but it became pretty obvious that tasting the food would be the extent of her cooperation. It was almost refreshing to see her acting like her old self again.

He could hear Stiles moving around in the bathroom, he’d tried not to focus on him too much as an attempt to give him some privacy until he couldn’t contain himself any more. Hearing him, knowing that they were under the same roof provided just too much comfort. If he really put his mind into it he could even hear his heartbeat. Loud and steady.

It was the best sound he’d heard in a long time.

Scott tried to engage Lydia in conversation but she looked distracted. She’d been a great cause for concern for the pack, particularly after Natalie. Her banshee ability was a lot harder to control than any of them had thought and, Scott meditated ruefully, he’d probably made it worse by insisting she look for Stiles. Right after the accident and then again after Oliver Queen had suddenly reappeared. There were times when Scott feared her mind would simply give out under the pressure, the pack certainly thought that about him. But he’d been right. Stiles was here.

They would be okay.

Alisson and Isaac were the first to arrive. Both dressed casually, Allison had gone as far as to wear one of the dresses she used to favor back in her high school days.

“I thought he’d be more comfortable. It’s familiar, I guess.”  She smiled a bit uncertainly at him.

“It’s a great idea!” According to his mom, Stiles hadn’t looked too upset at any of the changes, he hadn’t even questioned the particular living arrangements of the household. Maybe their outfit wouldn’t really do anything to ease him back into things but it was nice that she’d worried about that. It was the kind of thoughtful detail that made her so loveable.

Allison smiled widely at him and left with Isaac to grab a drink and talk to Lydia. Seeing her with another man brought him only a small twist inside and he felt proud of himself. At first he’d been sure there would be no salvaging their friendship, not to mention his relationship with Isaac, but over time he had realized that the furious passion he had felt with her was only that, passion and not real love. His relationship with Kira was of a different nature, whether it was because he was not as young and naïve or because he was no longer a newly turned werewolf just waiting for an opportunity to lose control. He felt more stable with her and he could see that Allison felt something similar about Isaac. It was the kind of stability that he could see setting the foundation for a long lasting relationship.

And he was happy because it meant he could keep Allison and Isaac as friends. No matter what happened she’d been his first love and would always have a special place in his heart.

Back to the present Erica and Boyd had also arrived and were flittering around the room looking for Stiles.

“He’s taking a shower, he’ll be down soon.”

Erica did a poor job of hiding her disappointment and went to get drinks and talk to Allison. Clearly living and working together didn’t provide enough opportunity for them to chat. That had been one unexpected friendship.

Boyd simply settled down on the couch and waited. He’d always been the most balanced member of the pack and that hadn’t changed over the years. Scott hoped it never did.

Enough things had gone wrong over the years, Stiles being the main one. But he was under the same roof again, he could still hear his heartbeat, even clearer now that the shower was turned off.

By the time Stiles came down from Scott’s bedroom the rest of the pack had arrived, including Derek. Scott had considered asking him to skip but felt it would be unfair, despite everything Stiles was part of the pack and Derek’s business by extension. Also, it wouldn’t be right to try to alienate the Alpha from his own pack.

He knew that Stiles wasn’t exactly happy to have Derek around, his room had reeked with his friend’s anger when he’d gone in earlier and it became pretty obvious what the cause had been after talking to his Alpha. Still, the party would provide good opportunity for them to get used to one another again and there would be plenty of people to serve as buffers.

Stiles walked around the room a bit, saying hellos to all of them (except Derek, who he pointedly ignored) but never getting too close. A couple of handshakes or pats-in-the-back were the most his friends could get of him, and even that seemed to make his shoulders tense. He was actually very good at hiding it, but Scott could tell. He didn’t have werewolf sense for nothing.

“So, what are your plans?” Erica asked uncharacteristically subdued. Scott had laid out a few rules beforehand, mainly concerning what the pack could and couldn’t ask Stiles. It certainly put a damper on the possible topics of conversation but Scott didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t know what had happened to his friend but he could tell it was bad and that Stiles didn’t want (wasn’t allowed?) to talk about it. If they pushed it, Stiles might feel no other choice than to run away, or get taken away, who knew. Someone didn’t just return from the dead with nothing but the clothes on them, Scott might be naïve at times, but he wasn’t stupid.

Maybe tomorrow they would have a meeting and discuss their theories, it was clear they all had them, in the meantime they could enjoy that their missing pack member was finally back where he belonged.

“I don’t really have any I guess. Coming here was kind of spur of the moment.” It looked like Erica was going to just burst with the need to ask questions, honestly speaking, they all were and Scott would not know how to stop them. Luckily Kira chose that precise moment to walk in, Mason and Liam trudging nervously behind.

Scott perked up, knowing that if he’d been in his wolf form he’d be wagging his tail. He had actually done that before on occasions, Isaac had filmed the moment ‘for posterity’. The asshole.

He grabbed Stiles almost without thinking and noticed the way his friend had stiffened under his hand for a moment before relaxing almost immediately, he would have apologized for startling him but his heartbeat rate hadn’t changed at all, so he let it go.

“Stiles, there’s someone I want you to meet!” the rest of the pack continued to talk amongst themselves giving Scott some privacy for introductions.

“Hi!” Kira was, as usual, practically vibrating with excitement. And before he could even say her name she was off. “I’m Kira! Scott’s girlfriend, I’m sure he told you…maybe he was going to tell you. You are Stiles! Wow, I’m so glad you are here, I’m sure you don’t remember me, but we went to school together for a while. Rather I transferred a few weeks before you left and saw you and Scott, at school…I wished I’d spoken to you, you know…before. You looked funny and also you were reading The Avengers which I loved and really wanted to talk about the new issue with someone, so, you know…well. This is Liam!” and she reached behind her a shoved a startled blond at an equally startled Stiles.    

\---

Stiles blinked a few times while his brain processed the information that was practically vomited at him and caught the young werewolf that Kira (?) had handed him. Well, she was certainly a surprise and not at all what he would have expected from Scott, given Allison. From the introduction alone Kira seemed pretty drama free, and also a lot less composed that Allison had ever been.

If Scott was happy, and given his expression and body language he was, then he could only act polite. It wouldn’t be hard, Kira looked terribly likeable.

“Yes, I’m Stiles. And no, Scott hadn’t told me about you yet, though I’m guessing he was about to.” He smiled kindly in a move designed to put people at ease before looking at the blond kid that was still clutching to his arm. “Liam, right?”

The kid, he couldn’t have been more that eighteen, looked at him with wide blue eyes before looking at Scott. “Yeah, Liam. Nice to meet you.” He wasted no time moving away from Stiles and closer to the third werewolf. The same dark-skinned boy from the picture.

“And I’m Mason. Nice to meet you.” He looked a lot more comfortable in his skin that Liam did. But not as much as the other werewolves, maybe they were newly turned? Then again, there were people who didn’t really adapt to the bite no matter how much time went by. Over the years he’d found time and resources to study a bit more about werewolves and supernatural beings in general, although that part of his life was officially over and he hadn’t actually had a chance to test his new knowledge. But he did learn a thing or two that would have been extremely useful back when Scott was freshly bitten.

Stiles looked at Scott expectantly until he got the clue.

“Right! This is Kira, my girlfriend. And these are Liam and Mason, the new additions.”

“Did Derek….”

“Yes,” he didn’t look at Stiles’ face, instead focused on a random point over Liam’s shoulder. “Liam was hurt when a Wendigo attacked us and Mason was his friend and got involved.” So, Derek bit more people. That was surprisingly hurtful for reasons he wouldn’t contemplate until he was alone, preferably when he had his well-known knifes in hand and a target.

“Should we move to the living room?” Kira, who was apparently more perceptive that he had originally assumed, moved to Stiles’ side and started leading him back towards de pack, Liam and Mason now close to Scott. On closer inspection, it seemed like the two new werewolves were awfully attached to him and after entering the living room they hadn’t made a move to go and greet Derek. As the Alpha, that should have been the first thing they did. Curious.

“Kira and I met during our senior year.” Scott kept talking on the way. “I was in a really bad place and she helped a lot.”

Stiles almost froze, almost and it was only his years of training that kept him going right then. It wasn’t Scott’s fault, he tried to remind himself, so he had had every right to cry his friend’s passing. But hearing him say it only reminded him of the hard times he’d had.

He’d had dreams of Jeremy last night, the first time in years. Maybe it was being back on Beacon Hills, or maybe it was because of his short argument with Derek. Either way, his memories of his time on the island were present in his mind in a way they hadn’t been in a long time. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way it made him feel, the reminiscence of how helpless he’d felt and how furious he’d been at the pack. It made the party feel like a spit in the face of young Stiles. The pack couldn’t know, he couldn’t stand the pitying looks they would give him. He felt proud of himself for being strong enough to survive everything but couldn’t stand the thought of how the pack would react to what he’d become.

It wasn’t always easy. For years Stiles had believed in defending people, in keeping them safe. It was what his father did for a living, the kind of person he’d raised Stiles to be, except then he’d stumbled into the League of Assassins. Then he turned himself into a murderer. He wasn’t happy with what he’d done to survive but he’d done it and wouldn’t be ashamed of it either.

“That’s nice.” Stiles replied, only glad to be back with the rest of the pack so he could stop this train of thought.

No one asked about his past whereabouts, taking instead the opportunity to catch him up on their lives.

It was unbelievable how much they’d changed yet managed to stay the same. Erica was still loud and blunt, but less aggressive, like she had finally settled inside her own skin.  And was apparently BFFs with Allison of all people. They both worked at the local Youth Club, Erica as a librarian (yes, a librarian) and Allison as PE teacher. Or more like, they used to work there before the earthquake tore it down, now they were assisting in the rebuild.

Isaac, who had not stopped giving him the side eye, was also calmer, though no less of an ass. Still, Stiles couldn’t fault him for being distrustful. He was an unknown in their midst and as happy as Scott was, the others were bound to maintain a certain level of caution. Especially since he was being so secretive about everything.

Stiles felt a knot forming in his stomach. They’d barely been speaking for half an hour and he was ready to crawl out of his skin.

“…so we got an apartment that was close to town but far away enough that we’d have privacy. And well, Isaac and I were going to share the room so there was an extra.” Allison had been busy filling the silence with a short summary of her life so far. Stiles sort of appreciated the effort they were putting both in restraining their desire to ask questions and in telling him the news without making it sound like he’d missed much.

He wished he was in a state of mind where he could actually enjoy the information being poured at him, years ago he would have found it hysterical that the fierce huntress shared apartment with three wolves. Or that Isaac worked as a barista while trying to get his first book published (a collection of poems!).

The only one who didn’t contribute to the conversation, other than Stiles himself, was Derek. The Alpha was standing around, sullenly looking at Stiles whenever he thought Stiles wouldn’t notice. As if. Not only was he an expert at observing his surroundings, but Derek was being far from subtle. He looked offended. Stiles almost lost it at that but then decided he didn’t care.

He wondered what Scott had told the pack to keep them from asking question. Had the situation been reverse, he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself. But whatever it was, it was not enough to convince everyone. Derek was looking at him suspiciously, as were Isaac and Mason. Stiles didn’t care very much about the young ones as he knew the new members of the group would be bound to be curious. The people who knew him though, they were certainly going to notice the differences in him.

Especially because he’d decided he wasn’t going to go out of his way to accommodate them. No one had ever had that courtesy with Stiles, not the pack, not Jeremy and not his family from the League. All of the people in his life had always acted without regard for the others, the pack out of teenage selfishness, Jeremy out of cruelty and the League because it was not in their nature to be soft. Stiles had always been the one to adapt to his environment and those around him.

Well, no more. It wasn’t like Stiles was planning on staying in Beacon Hills.

\---

It had been five days since the party and Stiles had fallen into a sort of routine. His days were mostly spent with Lydia, wondering around town much to the entire pack’s disapproval. There was always a werewolf around, looking after them from a distance. Not far away enough for Stiles to miss them though.

Scott would be at the house after six, and they would have an uncomfortable dinner with Melissa, Chris and the Sheriff. Stiles would talk a bit, about some of the countries he’d visited without offering much detail, glad that everyone respected the implicit rule of letting him talk at his own time. Because explaining the reason for visiting Russia the year before would have been awkward as hell.

On the second day, he’d gone to one of his hideouts and retrieved another of his burner phones when everyone at the McCall’s was at work and Mr. Argent was napping.

Sara Lance was many things, but patient was not one of them. She’d bombarded him with texts demanding an explanation for his disappearance. Apparently Nyssa had taken off on a mission before sharing with the blonde where Stiles was. By the time the text conversation ended he felt like a chastised younger brother. Stiles loved every second of it.

The down side was, him texting that much was starting to rouse suspicion. He’d noticed Mr. Argent trying to look at his phone on more than one occasion, and Scott kept getting a worried frown on his face whenever he heard the buzzing of an incoming text. He didn’t know what to tell them so he chose to say nothing.

It’s not like they would have believed whatever lie he came up with. More troublesome were the news he was getting from Sara and the rest of the league. Apparently Malcolm Merlyn was causing trouble in Starling and the Hood was not capable of stopping him. Ra’s was unhappy, which was understandable. A rogue like Merlyn could expose the League. For so long they’d been like a nightmare that people whispered about, knowing they were there but afraid to summon them by speaking their name. Becoming public would be the worst thing that could happen to them.

On a more personal level, Merlyn was really screwing up his plans. He was taking his unofficial “vacation time” in Beacon Hills. They all took time off, but if Merlyn proved to Ra’s that they were not to be trusted out in the world he would make sure they never left Nanda Parbat again. And now that the pack knew he was alive…well, there was no way they would let him disappear like that.

It was almost three in the morning and he was out, having escaped bonding time with Scott by pretending to be tired. He was moving around his things in No Man’s Land, Stiles worried that the pack might catch his scent if he allowed his clothes and miscellaneous items to linger in the same place for too long. He was probably being over-paranoid, but paranoia and him went way back and it had never steered him wrong.

He had four phones left just in case, a couple of hand knifes and his favored battle staves. A sword would have been a bit hard to explain away should anyone had found this, but nowadays they were pretty easy to come by, so he didn’t worry too much. Besides, it’s not like he was expecting any trouble.

Typically, it was at that point that the same drunks from Margot’s had stumbled around a corner.  Seriously, his life.

“Look Micky!”

“Are you lost little boy?” Maybe they’d been drunk before, but they were very much sober now. Which sort of made their attitude even more disgusting. “Wanna help us pass some time?”

Stiles almost felt bad, sure they were being rude but they were also stupid. Did they really deserve it?

“Come on kiddo, we ain’t got all night.” As soon as the one closest to him reached for him he snatched his hand and twisted it behind his back.

If those men had stumbled into anyone else, they would have done the same thing and the poor victim would likely be unable to defend themself. They could have found any of the residents of No Man’s Land, helpless people, forgotten by everyone else. It could have been anyone from town, a teenager lost and afraid, a kid away from home.

Stiles wasted no time kicking the second assailant in the gut and flipping over the man he was still holding down to punch the third in the face. He went down and stayed there.

The second would-be attacker recovered quickly and reached for something in his pocket. Stiles didn’t wait to see what it was, he simply flung one of the knives he was still holding aiming straight for the chest. He let the first man drop to the ground and slammed his foot on his face.

He was wearing a hoodie so the guy he’d punched in the face wouldn’t be able to recognize when he woke up, and the other two wouldn’t be talking again. Immediately he retrieved the knife from the man´s chest and cleaned it. He figured, he probably wouldn’t have to worry about being recognized, the potential rapist wouldn’t go and make a police report.

Yes, they’d deserved it. Jeremy had deserved it too.

I wasn’t until later that day when he was watching Moira Queen speak on national TV about Merlyn’s plan and heard his father talk about the two corpses he’d found that he thought maybe, just maybe they shouldn’t be allowed out of Nanda Parbat and into the world.


End file.
